


Can't Keep a Good Man Down

by ewells4



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-10-26 19:53:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 84,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20747816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ewells4/pseuds/ewells4
Summary: When one of Hell's more vexatious residents escapes, Lucifer is forced to return to Earth to bring her back. Complications ensue, and what should be a simple retrieval becomes an unexpectedly volatile situation. (Continuation from Season 4 finale)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally posted on ff.net, but at the prompting of a reader, I decided to post it here, as well. I already had an A03 account that I used for reading, so I thought, "Why not?" It's a multi-chapter fic consisting of 14 chapters and an Epilogue. To date, the first 13 chapters have been posted. I update weekly, so we're approaching the end of this one. As mentioned in the summary, it's a continuation that picks up after the Season 4 finale. Bear with me while I migrate the chapters over from the other site. I like to check the formatting before posting.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

"I want to know _everything_. How it happened, who was there, what was said . . . . And don't spare a single detail," Lucifer bellowed, yanking up the sniveling former human by the neck—or what would have qualified as a neck before he shed his mortal skin. The man absolutely _would not_ stop whimpering. The choked sobs and desperate pleas for mercy, deliverance and some human female named Marge debrided Lucifer's tolerance, peeling away the thin layer of patience in which he'd shrouded himself prior to entering the newcomer's cell. Oddly enough, Lucifer hadn't even had to flash any Devil Face to reduce him to hysterics.

"Why do I look like this?" the man sobbed as he examined his hands and arms.

"What you're seeing is your soul. Now that you've left behind your body on Earth, this is all that remains of you. You didn't think you'd get to bring your body with you to Hell, did you?"

"I-I n-never gave it m-m-much thought." Glancing down at his arm again, he whined, "It's so black and leathery."

"I've seen worse. Then again, I've also seen better."

"Why don't _you_ look like this? You're not all dark and shriveled. You just look like a regular guy."

"Well, if you must know, I've done some work on myself in recent years. Lots of therapy and self-reflection. Plus, I'm the Devil, so for me, it's more of a choice," Lucifer explained, treating the man to a brief flicker of his Devil Face. For the most part, his "devil bits" had been relegated to the back of the closet—merely a tool and a means to an end that he kept on hand because demons and sinners alike needed an occasional reminder that they should still fear him.

The case at hand was a prime example of that. At the sight of Lucifer's charred, crimson skin, the man had clapped his eyes shut and turned his head away. The halting string of prayers and denials that followed was nothing out of the ordinary. In response, Lucifer scowled and dropped the man to the cold, stone floor. Like a spider being released from the promise of imminent death, he skittered backwards into the nearest corner and curled his remains into a shaking, sputtering ball.

Normally, "initiations" weren't Lucifer's thing. It was a task best delegated to a particular set of his more sadistic underlings—the ones who rejoiced in the opportunity to dole out not-so-great news against a backdrop of shrieks, wails and occasional fainting spells. Recently, however, he'd taken it upon himself to personally welcome members of a certain demographic, and as much as his demonic henchmen might whisper and speculate among themselves as to why his interests had suddenly veered in that direction, his reasons were entirely his own.

"I don't kn-know anything," the man mumbled. "P-p-please don't hurt me. I need to see Marge . . . need to t-tell her I never meant to hurt her . . . that it was just the one time."

"No one ever means to do anything," Lucifer informed him, rolling his eyes. "And I'm sure _Marge_ will be far better off without you and whatever sidepiece you taunted her with during your miserable existence on Earth."

"Her name was St-Stacy," the man blubbered, casting a quick glance up at Lucifer before losing his composure entirely and re-coiling into a piddling display of cowardice once again. "And it was just the _one_ time."

"So you said. Now, before continuing, I want you to consider your next words more carefully. Are you really sure it was just once? Because if you're lying, well . . . . You should know that of all things in Hell and on Earth, I absolutely cannot abide a liar."

"Okay, okay," the man quickly conceded. "Twice. It was twice."

Clearing the distance between them in one long stride, Lucifer stared down at the man and nudged him rather forcefully with the toe of one polished Louboutin.

"All right, three t-times. That was what I meant to say."

One more nudge from Lucifer, and the man squeaked, "Or four. It could have been four. Oh, God!"

Lucifer clucked his tongue. "Don't bother with _him_. I'm afraid he's washed his hands of you at this point. Best to just accept your lot so that we can get on with it."

"Get on with what?" the man asked, raising his head slowly and with a pair of wide, red-rimmed eyes, he searched Lucifer's face for an answer that was sure to disappoint.

"Why, your torture, of course."

And that's when the wailing truly began.

"Surely, you didn't expect me to lie to you," Lucifer observed, crouching near the man's ear in an effort to be heard above the din. "Now, if you could tell me your name again, that would be helpful. You've been making such a racket that I'm afraid I've forgotten it, and whenever possible, I do like to personalize the experience. After all, it isn't every day that a man enters the gates of Hell."

Through strangled sobs, the man managed to stammer, "It's A-Arthur."

"Excellent," Lucifer commended him, returning to a standing position. He couldn't allow himself to get too close to the former human; maintaining a safe distance was key. Otherwise, he ran the risk of appearing too sympathetic, and if that happened, he'd never learn anything useful. "And now that we're better acquainted, Art, I feel certain that you'll want to fill me in on all the pesky, little details surrounding your demise. I have reason to believe that you might be in a position to offer information that's of interest to me."

"You do?"

"I know. It's hard to believe that a man such as yourself should be in possession of anything that would be worth my time. But so it is, and with that being the case, I'm willing to offer you a deal of sorts. You should consider yourself lucky," he added, "because it's not every day that this sort of opportunity is made available to a derelict in your position."

"If I tell you what you want to know, you'll send me home?" Art asked hopefully.

"No, no. Nothing like that," Lucifer responded, waving away the suggestion with a flick of his wrist. "_But_ if you give me the information I'm seeking, I won't turn you over to Asmodeus. I'll give you to Ziminiar instead."

"Who's Asmod-Asmod—"

"As-mod-eus," Lucifer enunciated. "And Ziminiar. You may not know much about the way of things here, but let me assure you that as demons go, this is a very good deal for you, Art."

"_Demons?!_"

Lucifer sighed. The immersion process could be so tedious. "Yes, demons. Surely by now, we've established that you're in Hell, where there are demons whose job it is to punish you for your Earthly misdeeds. Having said that, I hope we won't need to revisit all of that unpleasant wailing and screaming again."

Art didn't immediately answer but at length, to Lucifer's immense relief, he finally muttered, "What do you want to know?"

"Now we're getting somewhere. I'm interested in learning about the details surrounding your death. Please fill me in on _all_ of the particulars." With a snap of his fingers, Lucifer summoned a chair. Sitting down in it, he crossed one leg over the other and waited. "Go on. Tell me what happened," he prompted. "And don't leave out anything."

"There's really not much to tell," Art said. "I was visiting a friend at this place downtown, and I got shot. Now I'm here."

Lucifer cleared his throat, steepling his fingers and leaning back in the chair. "A bit more detail, _please_."

Art hesitated before finally explaining, "It was the Hollywood Palms. I'd been visiting a friend there—"

"Stacy, I presume?"

"Yeah, it was Stacy," he admitted, but not without some reluctance. "We have a standing lunch meeting there every Wednesday. We get together to talk about—business. I own—"

"_Owned_."

Art's head drooped. "I owned a few car lots in L.A.," he amended, "and she was always real good about looking over my books to make sure everything was on the up and up. Plus, she saved me a mint in taxes last year. Stacy's a real whiz with numbers. Took some of those accounting courses they offer down at the Community College. That was actually where we met. I was over there taking a night course in—"

"_Focus_," Lucifer barked suddenly, causing Art to wince. "I don't care about your extramarital dalliances, except as they apply to the day you died. Those are the only details I want to hear. Don't give me a reason to change my mind about our deal."

"Right. Details," Art agreed instantly. "I can do details. Well, we were meeting for our usual Wednesday appointment. It was Suite 405 in the back right corner of the fourth floor. Stacy checked in before me, and by the time I got there, it was a little before noon. The guy at the desk gave me a key card, so I went up in the elevator and let myself into the room. When I walked in, she was waiting for me on the—er—bed. She asked why I was running late, and I said it was because I got hung up at the car lot. One of the salesmen had a beef about his commission. Stacy said I must be awfully stressed out about it and asked if I'd like a massage. I said, 'Sure,' 'cause what guy's gonna' turn down a free mas-"

"_Boring_," Lucifer groaned. "I don't care about any of this. Fast forward to the part where you've both got your clothes on again."

"Okay, clothes back on. Right." Art nodded. "She asked me if I wanted to grab some lunch, and I said I couldn't because I had to get back. I had a meeting with a wholesaler at two. I asked her if we were still on for the following week, and she said she needed to switch it to Tuesday because her sister was gonna' be in town from Minneapolis."

"Move on," Lucifer told him. "This means nothing to me."

"You said you wanted details," Art pointed out.

"Not _those_ details."

"Well, which ones do you want, then? We're getting pretty close to the end of it."

"I'll let you know."

"So I changed the date on my calendar to the following Tuesday—"

"Nope. Don't need that detail."

"We locked up the room and went downstairs—"

"_Or_ that one."

Lucifer made a motion with his hand to signal his impatience, and Art sped up. "We checked out, walked through the lobby, got intercepted by some nosy cop and then I got popped in the chest. The bullet came from a car outside, I think, because I heard some glass breaking. Then, there was the sound of tires squealing, and I was on the ground. Felt like a linebacker was marching back and forth across my chest."

"Okay, now you're moving too fast," Lucifer complained. "I need to know the _details_, Art. You walked through the lobby and stopped to talk to . . . . a nosy cop?"

"Yeah, it was a lady detective. She had some questions for Stacy. Stacy's ham-fisted brother had told her about our standing appointment on Wednesdays, so she showed up at the Palms looking for Stacy."

"Tell me more," Lucifer encouraged him, dropping both feet to the ground and leaning forward. This one was starting to look promising.

"About which part?"

"About the _detective_, of course," Lucifer snapped.

"Um, let's see. I didn't catch her name, but she was a real serious type. All business. Long blondish hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. Blue eyes. She was all buttoned up, but my guess is that she'd be a real firecracker in the sack, if you know what I mean."

"Watch your language!" Lucifer leapt from the chair and charged at Art, forcing himself to stop just short of pulverizing the guy. With his nostrils flaring, Lucifer breathed, "You'll show the proper respect or I'll summon Asmodeus right now. He has a real gift when it comes to incendiary devices, and I think you'll develop an appreciation for his artistry once you've witnessed his work firsthand."

"I'm sorry," Art wheezed, covering his head with his arms and leaning away from Lucifer. "Didn't realize you kn-knew her."

"I didn't say I knew her," Lucifer seethed. "And regardless, I'd advise you to stop imagining her_ in the sack_ or I'll put you in a Hell loop so horrifying that you'll beg to be extinguished from existence."

"What's a Hell loop?" Art asked, but before Lucifer could answer, he whimpered, "Never mind. I don't want to know . . . ."

Easing himself back into the chair, Lucifer nodded. "Go on. Tell me the rest."

"Well, er, like I said before, she was looking to talk to Stacy. Stacy had gotten clean a few months back and this detective had some questions about her former dealer. The guy was being investigated for murder. Gang-related, I think . . . I can't remember the whole story."

"That's fine. As we've established, my interest is in the detective. Do you have anything more to add about her? Was she alone or with a partner?"

"By herself, as far as I know. I always thought they worked in twos, but this one was alone."

"And how did she seem?"

"What do you mean?"

"Was she happy? Enthusiastic? Sad? Depressed? Tell me about her demeanor."

"Well, she was working a murder, so I'd describe her as determined, reserved . . . . Maybe kinda' sad? I don't know. She just seemed like she wanted to get the information and get out.

"But I'll tell you, when I went down, she was right there telling me to stay calm and calling for an ambulance. The paramedics never got there—at least not before I checked out—but she stayed with me the whole time. Stacy was running around like a crazy woman, but that detective, she hovered over me like I was her long-lost brother. She said something about applying pressure to the wound, and it hurt like a sonofabitch when she pressed her hand against it. I remember telling her I was going to die, and she didn't disagree 'cause she knew it was coming. She just sat there and waited with me."

"Was there anything else you noticed about her? Before you died, that is."

"Just this one other thing she said to me when I was starting to slip away." There, Art seemed to hesitate. "It didn't make any sense, but if there's a chance I can get a better deal down here, I might as well tell you."

"What? What did she say?" Lucifer demanded, standing up and advancing on the man again. At the sudden movement, Art scurried along the wall away from Lucifer.

"She said, 'Tell him I miss him.' It was the last thing I remember before, well, _you know_ . . . . Doesn't make much sense, but you said you wanted to hear it all."

Lucifer leaned against the wall, running a hand through his hair as he closed his eyes and consumed several deep breaths of the stagnant, ashy air surrounding them. Minutes passed as his mind listened again and again to what Art had just told him, allowing the words to sooth his discordant spirit.

"Who was she?" Art asked tentatively. "Someone important?"

"Important," Lucifer echoed quietly, more to himself than to the blackened soul he was supposed to be punishing. He no longer cared if Art saw him as a monster or a man. Lucifer had gotten what he needed, and that was all that mattered to him. "Yes, she was important. And I was so close. You have no idea. Now, I'm just . . . alone. And so is she. That is, of course, if she still feels the same way after all this time. I know I do. I always will."

Pushing away from the wall, Lucifer turned toward the door. "A promise is a promise, Art. Someone will be with you soon enough."

"Remember that you promised me Ziminius. Not the other one."

"Zimin_iar_," Lucifer corrected him. "He's far less likely to light you on fire than Asmodeus. Ziminiar's more of a gentle giant. Unless, of course, you have something against branding irons."

Lucifer pulled the heavy metal door shut behind him and slouched against it, feeling relief wash through every synapse in his body. It had been a while since he'd had a message from the Detective. Two months and fourteen days, to be exact. In the meantime, Hell had admitted forty-two homicides from the L.A. area, and Lucifer had interrogated every one of them.

Since his return to Hell, her messages had always been sporadic—owing, he presumed, to the unlikelihood of a homicide detective actually being present at a crime scene _prior_ to the victim's death—but he'd never had to wait so long before. And during those barren months, in the nooks and crannies of his battered soul, Lucifer had begun to doubt the Detective's continued affections. He'd started to suspect that her feelings were waning or even that she'd replaced him with someone else—perhaps someone named Tim or Derek, who had a stable job and a lovely, suburban home in which to raise her progeny.

It seemed, however, that this was not the case. Not yet, anyway. Lucifer smiled to himself, relaxing into his good fortune as if it were a bottle of Glenfiddich 1937. The Detective had said that she missed him. During the nine months since he'd returned to Hell, Lucifer had received five "I love yous" and four "I miss yous." In this instance, a combination of the two would have been nice, especially considering how long he'd waited. Then again, perhaps it was like playing a game of telephone. The decedent's condition, the timing of the death and the person's overall mental acuity could all be responsible for confounding a message, resulting in only a partial transmission, or perhaps none at all. With that in mind, he glanced into Art's cell through the door's single window, silently thanking the man for holding onto the message he had conveyed—no matter the length or content. On a list of preferences, the Detective's continued reassurances ranked an admittedly distant third behind actually being in her physical presence or being able to speak to her directly. The messages were all he had, though, and since his return to Hell, they'd become the sole reason he was able to subsist in the bleak, joyless world he'd once called home.


	2. Chapter 2

"Now, this part was a real stroke of luck. Apparently, our vic was super scrappy and managed to hang onto a pretty decent chunk of the guy's—or girl's—skin fragments_._" Ella narrowed her eyes, leaning in closer to the laptop as she zoomed in on a photo. "Actually, I'm pretty sure it was a dude. Those bruise marks are shaped like handprints, and there's _no way_ they were made by 'lady hands.' Oh, and this is the best part. In our vic's right fist, she had three strands of hair that—_wait for it_—weren't hers. So, duh, they obviously belonged to her attacker. It's pretty sad that she's dead because she was a total fighter," Ella concluded, suddenly looking up from her laptop screen. "Um, Chloe? Are you with me?"

Chloe blinked several times, clearing the background noise from her thoughts. "Yeah, yeah, I'm with you. Skin fragments beneath the fingernails and a fistful of hair." Thankfully, the case was pretty basic, so her lack of focus wasn't a problem. In truth, this case—as was true of almost every case she'd worked during the past few months—was fairly unexceptional. Worse still was the fact that even if the case had been riveting, she probably wouldn't have been able to engage in it. Lately, Chloe had been doing a first-class job of going through the motions at work. It simply wasn't fun anymore, which was, of course, laughable. Since when had _fun_ become a prerequisite to solving homicides?

"Are you sure you're with me? Because I know you just repeated what I said, but that doesn't mean you were really listening."

"Yes, Ella. I'm with you," Chloe groaned, doubling down on the pretense that she was fully engaged. The effort felt similar to slogging through several inches of mud, but even so, she insisted, "I'm here. I'm listening. Fire away."

"Okay. Time out," Ella said, forming a 'T' with her hands. "You may be here, but you're not _here_ here. You haven't been _here_ here for months."

"I don't know what you mean." That was a lie, of course. She knew exactly what Ella meant. Still, squaring her shoulders and straightening her spine, Chloe prepared to defend herself. She might be feeling melancholy and uninspired, but her numbers certainly weren't suffering. Hadn't she closed twelve cases in the past three months?

Ella raised an eyebrow. "Look, can I be frank with you? Wait . . . don't answer that because it doesn't matter. We're friends, so _yes_, I can be frank with you."

"Can we not talk about this right now? I know where you're going, and it has nothing to do with my focus or dedication to this, or any other case we may be working. I just _can't_ do this right now."

"Sorry. Too late," Ella quipped. "We're doing it."

Chloe sighed as Ella circled around the table and gripped her lightly by the shoulders, forcing a face-to-face intervention of sorts. It wasn't the first. Chloe felt certain it wouldn't be the last. In fact, Ella's "check-in sessions," as she called them, had been a weekly standard for the better part of nine months.

"Just relax, okay?" Ella said. "He _will_ be back . . . . Or you can go there!"

"He won't, and I can't. I mean, I wouldn't even know how to do a thing like that. Is it even possible?" Chloe wondered aloud without fully considering what she was saying and to whom she was saying it.

"_Hello_, it's just Europe. All you have to do is jump on a plane at LAX and in a matter of hours, you'll be jumping _something else_." Ella wagged her eyebrows at Chloe. Lowering her voice, she leaned in and whispered, "I meant that you'd be jumping his _bones_."

"Yeah, I got that," Chloe said, nodding her head dismissively. "Ella, I'm not going anywhere. And I'm fine. Everything is f—"

"_Fine_," Ella finished for her. "That's what you've been saying since Lucifer took off. And as we've all been reminding you, he'll be back. He's done this before, and he always comes back. I mean, granted, it's been nine months this time, which is a _lit-tle_ long, if you ask me. But that doesn't mean he isn't coming back."

"Ella, Lucifer's not coming back," Chloe announced with resolve, trying not to flinch as she said it. Even after nine months, the truth still stung.

"Hey, he's your partner _and then some_. You guys are great together. There's no way he's not coming back. I refuse to lose hope, and you shouldn't either."

Chloe swallowed, feeling the familiar weight of despondency settling in around her shoulders. Mercifully, before she had the opportunity to truly sink into it and wallow, a text appeared on her phone, offering an escape route. Edging toward the door, she said, "Yeah, um, I need to go. Something's come up in another case. I'll check in with you later." Chloe pocketed her phone and called back over her shoulder, "Let me know if the lab comes back with a possible i.d. on our assailant."

* * *

As she slid into her cruiser, Chloe pressed Speed Dial 2 on her phone and switched over to speakerphone.

"Dispatch," the familiar voice echoed around the inside of the car. "This is Jen."

"Hi, Jen. It's Decker. Thanks for the text." The car roared to life, and Chloe whipped out of the parking spot, heading toward the garage exit. "I'm assuming LAPD and paramedics are already en route."

"Yeah, I called them first. It's protocol, you know. But as soon as the call came in, I thought of you. The victim's an elderly woman who's been stabbed in the chest, sounds like the injury is seriously life-threatening."

"Thanks, Jen," she said, wincing at the sound of squealing tires as she skidded around a corner. "I owe you a six-pack—maybe even a full case, depending on how it all pans out."

"Hey, do you mind me asking something?"

"Not at all. Ask away," Chloe told her. She knew what was coming next and was surprised it hadn't been asked long before now.

"Why are you so interested in these calls when they come in? Is there a pattern? A modus operandi? It's been months since I started flagging them for you, and I'm just wondering where it's all leading. Is there some big sting in the works?"

Chloe considered for half a second before snatching up the carrot Jen had dangled. It was a far more plausible explanation that the truth. How could she say that she was hoping to use the victim as a courier to send a message to Hell? Jen would never believe her, and Chloe would look ridiculous for even suggesting it. "Yep, that's it. You got it, Jen. It's a _really_ big case. Pretty high profile. Otherwise, I could talk more about it, but unfortunately," she said, lowering her voice to a whisper, "it's all pretty confidential stuff."

"I can't even imagine how all these victims are connected. How many stabbing and shooting victims have I called you about, anyway? It's gotta' be close to a hundred by now."

"Well, they're not all related to our case, but it's nearly impossible to rule out anything until I arrive at the scene. We need to make sure we're following every lead if we're going to catch the person behind this."

"Makes sense, I guess," Jen said, and Chloe frowned. Lately, she had begun to question whether following these "leads" actually did make sense anymore—or whether it ever had. "I can see why you'd want to be on scene before the victims die—_if_ they die," Jen concluded. "It's much easier to get information out of a breathing victim than one who's dead."

Chloe nodded. "Exactly. Thanks again."

"No problem. I'll call you when we get another one."

Chloe ended the call, chastising herself for continuing the charade. It was crazy. _She_ was crazy. There wasn't even any proof that Lucifer was getting her messages. At some point, she knew she had to let it go. She had to break the connection and move on. She just couldn't seem to do it . . . .

For a couple of months, she'd actually stopped chasing the leads altogether, having convinced herself that Lucifer couldn't possibly be missing her as much as she was missing him. The distractions of Hell had to be considerable for an immortal being like Lucifer. Admittedly, Chloe didn't understand all the nuts and bolts, but she imagined that there must be sex—or something equivalent to it—and naturally, there would be parties. _Plenty_ of parties . . . . Lucifer had never been one to deprive himself and amidst so many temptations, it was entirely possible that the now-distant Earthly connection they'd shared would suffer by comparison. And that was assuming, of course, that using dying humans as couriers was even a reliable way of passing "notes" to Lucifer in the first place. He might not even be receiving her messages. With all of that in mind, Chloe had convinced herself that it was unhealthy to hold onto so much false hope, and she'd pulled the plug. For two agonizingly long months, she'd stopped following up on the leads when they came in. Then, that guy at the Hollywood Palms had taken a bullet to the chest right in front of her, and the opportunity had almost literally fallen into her lap. How could she let him die without at least _trying_ to send a message to Lucifer? And that was all it took for her to start chasing Jen's leads again because if nothing else, it offered the possibility of a connection with Lucifer. Even if he forgot about her, she hadn't forgotten about him.

Scanning the information from dispatch that appeared on the monitor, Chloe muttered, "Vic named Mary Louise Trager . . . in her late 70s or early 80s . . . stabbed in the chest with a knife . . . . Well, Mary Louise," she sighed, "I'm not exactly hoping that you're on your way to Hell. _That _would make me a bad person. However, if it turns out that you led a not-so-virtuous life and regret your poor choices, I might as well take advantage of the opportunity."

* * *

When Chloe got to Bluebird Street, Mary's house was easy enough to find without even looking at the address. A fire truck, an ambulance and a gaggle of curious neighbors swarmed the street in front of the house. She was pleased to note that the LAPD hadn't arrived yet. With any luck, they'd show up after she left, and no explanations would even be necessary.

As Chloe's cruiser collided with the curb, she was already shutting off the ignition and preparing to exit the car. One of the trickiest parts about the entire process—and there were certainly a few—was the timing. For obvious reasons, she needed to find the victim alive and conscious or there would be no hope of conveying a message to Lucifer.

The second hurdle, she reminded herself as she slipped into the small, yellow bungalow filled with a surfeit of feline-inspired bric-à-brac, hanging plants in macramé baskets and far too many doilies, was that the person had to be on a path to Hell and not going in the other direction. The contents of Mary's living room alone would seem to suggest that she was most likely Heaven-bound. With a passing glance at the room, Chloe's hopes plummeted all the way to the lemon-scented floorboards. Mary was a perky, flower-loving . . . _nurse at a children's hospital_, Chloe noted from the plaque hanging in the hallway to the kitchen. That pretty much sealed it. Mary was on the fast track to the Silver City, as Lucifer might say.

Still, it was worth a look, she supposed. Chloe followed the commotion to the back porch, a screened-in area with wicker furniture and floral-printed cushions juxtaposed against large crimson blood splatters. Mary lay on the floor in the center of the porch, a small grey-haired island in a sea of green exterior carpeting. Chloe watched as the paramedics crouched over their patient, preparing her for transport. Her arms were crossed serenely over her mid-section, and she seemed like she was ready to go—affirming Chloe's earlier assumption that Mary had led a virtuous life and probably wouldn't be moving into Lucifer's neighborhood any time soon.

But then, in true "don't judge a book by its cover" fashion, Mary's eyes sprang open, and the smaller of the two paramedics was knocked backwards by a string of profanity so vulgar that Chloe considered covering her own ears. "You!" Mary yelled, raising a crooked finger in Chloe's direction. "Call my son, and tell him to get the hell over here. He needs to make sure these halfwits don't screw up and kill me by accident. And get me my cigarettes!" From there, she dissolved into a fit of coughs and spasms that managed to silence any additional demands. So . . . maybe Heaven wasn't exactly a lock, Chloe thought as she sized up the woman.

Chloe flashed her badge at Keller and Bridges, a team of EMTs she recognized from other crime scenes, and reached down to offer a hand to the one who had fallen backwards. "Um, how is she?" she asked.

"_How am I_?" Mary shrieked instead, having apparently recovered from her coughing fit. "A strung-out crazy-haired junkie stumbled in from the backyard and rammed a knife through my chest! How do you think I'm doing?! Where'd you get your badge anyway?! The Dollar Tree?!"

Chloe exhaled slowly, ignoring Mary's glare as she leaned in closer to inspect the knife that was protruding from the space between the right shoulder and her heart. The blade looked similar to some of Maze's. The diamond-carved handle and gold inlay seemed almost otherworldly. Then again, what did Chloe know about celestial carving tools? She'd been "in the know" for less than a year. It was probably just a pretty knife the assailant picked up at a yard sale.

"You're Homicide, right?" Keller asked, glancing up at Chloe.

"Yeah, that's right. I guess we got the call prematurely. Must've been a mistake."

"Well, if I had to guess, we won't be needing you here today," he said. "She's really lucky the assailant missed the heart. An inch or two to the left, and it would definitely be a different story." With the help of his partner, he slid Mary onto a backboard, adding, "Just thought I'd let you know. LAPD may want to send a different detective to the hospital for questioning."

Chloe nodded. "I'll tell dispatch. Thanks for the heads up," she said, experiencing an odd mixture of disappointment and guilt. Chloe massaged her temples as she walked down the porch steps into the backyard, needing a moment to decompress before heading back to the station.

As Mary's body was carried out of the house, Chloe wandered through the sandy pathways of the tidy, compact garden, telling herself that this had to stop. Visiting crime scenes in the hopes of catching a victim on the way to Hell was beyond pathetic. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out what Linda might say if she knew. She would probably tell Chloe that it wasn't productive. She'd also definitely say that it was unhealthy. And Linda would be right, as Chloe well knew. It was just that she missed Lucifer so much. He had been her partner in more ways than one, and when it came to moving on without him, she was hitting a brick wall. On the work front, she'd experimented with new partners. With the exception of Dan, they'd all been utter failures. On the dating front, she'd dipped her toe in again, too, but those results had been even worse than the work disasters. Every person she'd encountered seemed boring, drab and entirely lacking in charisma. In short, none of them were Lucifer.

Weaving through the well-tended, verdant pathways of Mary's garden, Chloe considered how to take the next step and what that should be. She felt angry at the hand she'd been dealt—and at the hand Lucifer had been dealt. None of it seemed fair. Why did their burden have to be so heavy?

Worst of all was that she could see that her purpose in Lucifer's life had been clear from the start. She'd helped him to a point of self-realization that had resulted in growth and healing for him, and as a result, she'd lost him. That was some reward. Chloe felt like nothing more than a tool and a means to an end. To be honest, they were both tools—pawns that had been deployed for the safety and protection of a world that didn't even appreciate the sacrifice.

Feeling disheartened, Chloe turned away from the lush plantings, prepared to leave. And that was when something caught her eye. It was a mere flicker, but it was enough to give her pause.

Across the garden beneath a white-latticed arbor, a faint ripple disturbed the air. It reminded Chloe of the disruption caused by a fly landing on still waters. Approaching the arbor, she slowed her pace and surveyed the area with as much caution as her curiosity would allow. The space around the arbor seemed perfectly normal. Beneath the archway, however, the air quivered like a platter of gelatin. Sliding her hand toward the disturbance, Chloe watched as her fingertips disappeared. Instantly, she recoiled, retrieving her hand from the space and inspecting it for any damage. Breathing heavily, she observed with immense amounts of relief, that all five fingers were still intact.

Two more attempts rendered the same results. She didn't know what to make of it. Looking around her, Chloe noted that she was alone. No one had seen her. That was probably a good thing, she concluded.

But what should she do? She needed to talk to someone who might know what this was. A year ago, Chloe would have been in a state of heavy confusion and possible disbelief. Her mind would have begun to rationalize what she had seen. More than likely, she would have looked to science for an explanation. Now, however, it didn't even occur to her to consider the possibility that the ripple was anything other than celestial in nature.

"You've come a long way, Decker," she commended herself, swiping through her Contact List until she found Amenadiel's number. Several rings later, and she was listening to his voicemail message. "Great, what now?" she asked herself.

* * *

Chloe knocked on the door to Linda's office, waited for half a second and then knocked again. Just as she was raising her hand to knock a third time, the door swung open and Linda was staring back at her with a quizzical expression on her face.

"Chloe? What's wrong?" As usual, Chloe immediately detected that sympathetic "how are you" tone in Linda's voice. It was always there, and as much as it was intended as a show of support, Chloe couldn't help but feel like a wounded bird every time she heard it. And Linda wasn't the only one who used "the tone." Amenadiel did it, too.

Chloe leaned her head into the office, surveying the room. "Are you in a session?"

"Nope, I'm actually between appointments. At the moment, I'm free as a bird. How are things going?" she asked, ushering Chloe toward the couch.

"Things are fine. Listen, I'm actually looking for Amenadiel. Do you know where he is?"

"Did you say Amenadiel?" Linda repeated, sounding perplexed.

"Yeah, _Amenadiel_. You know, Charlie's father? Have you seen him?"

"Sure, I've seen him lots of times." Linda emitted a short burst of inappropriate laughter. "Haven't we all?"

"Well, my calls are going to his voicemail, and I really need to see him. It's important."

"Chloe, what's going on?"

"I'm not sure yet. I just really need Amenadiel." Chloe considered explaining the situation to Linda, but without Amenadiel to tell them what was happening, it seemed somewhat premature to alarm Linda. Linda was a new Mom to a half-angel baby. She was holding down a full-time job, and although she would never admit it, Chloe knew she lived in a state of perpetual exhaustion. Because Linda worried. A LOT. She worried that someone might come down from the Silver City and take away Charlie. She worried about another demon uprising. She worried that her son would develop wings before he was ready and somehow expose himself to the world. Consequently, Chloe knew that many nights Linda stayed awake just watching Charlie in the nursery. Linda's worries were nothing that a new mother should have to endure, and the last thing Chloe wanted to do was tell her about a mystery hole in some garden in L.A.

"I don't know where Amenadiel is," Linda finally said.

Chloe tossed aside one of the pillows on the couch and sat down. "Where is he, Linda? I know you're holding something back."

"Okay, maybe I am," Linda conceded. "But why? _Why_ is it so important to find Amenadiel?"

"I can't say. Just tell me where he is."

"Has something happened?" Linda asked, her voice climbing an entire octave. Turning to look at the bassinet in the corner, she made her concerns very clear. _Charlie_. Linda was worried that Chloe's secret might have something to do with Charlie.

"Fine," Chloe agreed. If she told Linda, she risked alarming her, and if she didn't tell her, she'd also risk alarming her. In was a no-win situation, so Chloe decided it was best to just come clean. "I didn't want to worry you, but clearly, you've already pulled the trigger on that, so I might as well tell you. I found something, okay? Something that probably doesn't belong here. It's got to be celestial, and I need Amenadiel to explain it to me."

"What is it?"

Chloe shrugged. "I honestly have no clue. If I had to guess, I'd say that it's some sort of hole—a disturbance in the air. It looked like a ripple, and when I touched it, my hand completely disappeared."

"It _disappeared_?" Linda closed her eyes, inhaling a few deep, therapeutic breaths. "You're right. We do need Amenadiel."

"Then, tell me where he is," Chloe insisted.

"Okay, okay . . . He went to see Lucifer," Linda blurted out, throwing out her arms in helpless resignation.

"He went to see Lucifer? Why? Is everything all right?"

"As far as I know, everything is fine. Amenadiel just went to check on him."

"Why didn't he let anyone know about his plans? I could've sent Lucifer a message," Chloe said, her temper flaring as she considered the missed opportunity. She could've sent a message that he might _actually_ receive.

"I don't know," Linda admitted. "It was all so sudden, but it had been a while, you know. He hadn't been down there since that one time right after Lucifer left. He's been too worried about Charlie and me. He just kept saying he didn't want to leave us. I even accused him of hovering. So when he finally announced his decision to go, I didn't question it too much because we'd been having an ongoing dialog about it for months."

"Why would he suddenly decide to go now if you'd been urging him to do it for months?"

"I don't know. Brother bonding?" Linda suggested.

"Are you sure you don't know anything else that you're not telling me? Is Lucifer really okay? Because if he weren't, I would absolutely want to know."

"I know, I know," Linda sighed. "I really don't know anything more than what I've told you. If something else prompted the visit, Amenadiel didn't mention it to me."

"It's just that the timing seems suspicious. Amenadiel disappears on a whim, saying he's going to visit Lucifer. And at the same time, I stumble upon some sort of celestial hole."

"I agree, but until he gets back, we can't ask him. We'll just have to wait. In the meantime, why don't you _really_ tell me how you've been doing?"

"Pretty much the same," Chloe said. It was a conversation she didn't want to have _again_, but Linda could be annoyingly tenacious when it came to ferreting out information. Hoping to put a firm period on the discussion, she added, "No better, no worse. Everything is just very . . . status quo."

"Are you sure? Because you can talk to me," Linda reminded her.

Chloe frowned. "Well, obviously, I miss Lucifer, but I think that's a given considering our circumstances."

"Chloe, we've talked about this. It _will_ get easier."

"You keep saying that, and I want to believe it, but it's been nine months. So far, that hasn't happened."

"It will," Linda assured her.

Chloe dropped her head against the back of the couch. "Do you think he's happy?"

"I really couldn't speak to Lucifer's happiness. It's not like I've been able to check in with him. Right now, I'm here for you."

"Do you think he's moved on? Do you think he's forgotten about me?"

"Absolutely not," Linda said, shaking her head for emphasis. "You're too important to him. And as to your question regarding his happiness, with Lucifer, I don't think it's so much of a question of _his_ happiness. As long as he feels like you and the people he cares about are protected, I would guess that he's probably . . . content. And it's also important to realize that the reason he was able to make that sacrifice in the first place is because he had you in his life, Chloe."

"I just feel so incomplete without him. It's like I'm in a holding pattern waiting for him to come back—except that I know he's not," Chloe said, fully committing to a confessional as she spread herself out along the length of the couch. "And I feel sad. But most of all I feel angry. I'm so _mad _that we finally got to where we needed to be, and we didn't even get a chance to actually _be _together."

"I know. It sucks."

"Wow. Brutal honesty. Not always what I expect from a therapist . . . ."

"I'm not speaking as a therapist right now. I'm saying this as your friend. I get it, and it's crap."

"Maybe I'll never move on from this," Chloe predicted. "I know I don't even want to consider it right now. I just can't."

Linda pursed her lips, seemingly formulating her next piece of advice. "I'm starting to think that 'moving on' is the wrong way to look at it, and we've probably scared you by hinting at it in past conversations. All you really need to do is reach a place of acceptance that allows you to lead a healthy, productive life."

"That sounds like code for 'moving on.'"

"It isn't really," Linda said. "Just give it some consideration. Think about how you can explore healthy avenues for experiencing life without constantly dwelling on your feelings for Lucifer and how much you miss him. Your feelings for Lucifer can still exist alongside the regular business of life. You just need to give yourself permission to have those new experiences without feeling the guilt that comes along with them."

"I really wish I could see him," Chloe mused. "Our goodbye went so fast that we never got any proper closure. And in the back of my mind, I'm constantly wondering if he's really gone for good or if he might actually be able to come back one day. I know he can't leave, but if I could just go there or—"

"Chloe, we've been over this. Amenadiel talked to you about why that's not possible, right?"

He most certainly had, Chloe thought, feeling the bitterness rise inside of her. She hadn't wanted to ask Amenadiel for help, and at first, she hadn't needed to ask him. But then, things had changed . . . .

Surprisingly, the first few months after Lucifer's departure had been the easiest for Chloe. Her resolve had been rock hard, and her memories of the two of them together had still been fresh. Like any good martyr, she'd been determined to accept her lot with a stoic sense of duty. With time, however, her resolve had weakened and the memories had become bittersweet. By the fifth month, her patience had grown razor thin to the point at which she'd actually broken down and begged Amenadiel to help her.

"Yeah, he talked to me about it," Chloe muttered, thinking back to the discussion she'd had with Amenadiel several months before.

"_Tell me what I have to do to see him, Amenadiel. There has to be a way," Chloe had insisted. _

"_Sure there is. And it's actually pretty simple. You just have to die. That is, assuming that you're Hell-bound, of course, and I doubt very much that you are, Chloe."_

"_Let's assume that I don't want to do it that way. What about the other thing?" _

"_What other thing?"_

_Chloe looked pointedly at him until finally he glanced over his shoulder. "My wings?"_

"_Well, I felt awkward asking before now, but Amenadiel, I'm really starting to lose it. You know, desperate times and all that . . . . Can't you fly me down there? I saw Lucifer when he left, and I know that's how it's done. It's how he brought Maze here."_

"_Chloe, I can go because I'm an angel. Maze can go because she's a demon and technically, it's where she belongs. But you're human. I can't take you to Hell. At least, not if you ever want to come back to Earth."_

"_Okay, then. Some other way . . . . Amenadiel, I'm telling you. I need to see Lucifer."_

_Amenadiel offered her a pained look. "I know," he sighed. "Look, you know my brother, and I'm sure you realize that above all, he'd want you to move on and enjoy your life. He wouldn't like that you're pining for him. He'd encourage you to get out and meet new people. Even new men."_

"_Eh . . . I don't think he'd encourage me to do that," Chloe said. "To be honest, that doesn't sound like him at all. As much as I care about him, even I'm willing to acknowledge that sometimes Lucifer has a tendency to be all about Lucifer." Chloe rolled her eyes as a flicker of an unwitting smile crossed her lips. "It's actually kind of endearing."_

"_Okay, maybe he wouldn't exactly _encourage_ you to date other men," Amenadiel conceded. "But deep down, it is what he'd want because he cares about you so much, Chloe. He returned to Hell because he was trying to protect you."_

"_And the rest of humanity," she pointed out. "I get it, okay? But I'm just so tired of not being able to do anything about it. I can't go on missing him like this for the rest of my life. And not just my Earthly life. We're talking about eternity, Amenadiel. It's been five months, and I'm just done. I have to see him. I need to know that he's all right."_

"_Chloe, if I could make that happen for you, believe me, I would. And even if it was possible, it wouldn't be right. You don't belong anywhere near Hell. Lucifer would agree with me on that. He wouldn't want you there."_

"_But—"_

"_I'm sorry," Amenadiel had said with finality, and Chloe absorbed an immediate surge of disappointment when she realized that she'd failed to convince him._

"Amenadiel has your best interests at heart," Linda reminded her gently. "And Lucifer's, too. He cares about you both."

"Ugh," Maze grunted from the doorway. "What are you two talking about? It sounds depressing." Kicking the door closed behind her, she walked into Linda's office as if it were her own living room.

"I thought you were out on an assignment," Chloe said, raising her head off of the couch.

"Just dropped the guy off at the station. He was a lot easier to find than I expected. Bail jumpers are stupid."

"Maze, I'm in a session," Linda complained.

Maze dropped onto the arm of the couch above Chloe's head. "It's just Chloe. She doesn't count."

"_Yes_, she does," Linda argued.

Chloe stood up. "Actually, I didn't come here for counseling, although it sort of evolved into that. It's gotta' be the couch," she laughed sheepishly. "It sucks me in every time."

"Yeah, me, too," Maze admitted. "You know, if you're done with it, I was thinking I might take a turn."

"Why? What's going on with you?" Chloe asked.

"Nothing. I was just hoping to get in a nap."

"Well, if that's all you've got going on, I could use your help with something. I actually came here looking for Amenadiel, but since he's not available, you're the next best thing."

"Did you tell her he went to Hell?" Maze asked Linda.

Chloe cocked her head at Maze. "You knew? Why does everyone get to know these things except me?"

"It's a pretty new development, okay? I mean, Amenadiel _just_ left," Maze grumbled. "And besides, we didn't want to send you into a tailspin over Lucifer. You've gotten all sad and pitiful since he's been gone."

"Maze, that's not very sensitive," Linda chided her. "Try to remember what we've been talking about in our sessions. It's important to value the perspectives and opinions of others. Many times it helps to put yourself in the other person's shoes."

"It's fine, Linda," Chloe said, interrupting them. She didn't have time for a discussion regarding Maze's emotional shortcomings. An analysis like that could take weeks, and Chloe was eager to investigate the hole in Mary's garden. "I need to get going. Maze, are you coming?"

"Why not?" Maze pushed off of the couch arm and walking across the room to Charlie's bassinet. "After all, I am the _next best thing_ to Amenadiel."

"Don't wake him up, Maze," Linda warned her, "or I promise you'll have Hell to pay."

Maze laughed softly. "Is that supposed to be a threat? You do remember that I'm a demon, right?" She tucked the blanket around Charlie with a tenderness Chloe never would have expected from her before the baby had been born.

"Just don't wake him up," Linda repeated, softening her voice. "Or else. I have two more appointments to get through, and they'll go much better if he's sleeping."

"Come on, Decker," Maze said, nudging Chloe out the door. "You can fill me in on the details in the car."

* * *

"So what's your assessment?" Chloe asked Maze after they'd had a few minutes to inspect the anomaly in Mary's garden. "Is it celestial?"

"Look, Decker, I know you're a novice at all of this Heaven and Hell stuff, but even you should recognize this for what it is."

Chloe crossed her arms, waiting for Maze to flesh out the details.

"It seems fairly obvious that it's a doorway to Hell," Maze explained in a bored tone.

"An actual door?"

Maze shrugged. "Actually, it's more like a tent flap. Or a tear in some fabric. I'm not sure how it got there, though. Hell's pretty air tight. It's not like you can just rip it open."

"Well, how do we know it leads to Hell?"

"Duh. How many residents of Heaven would march into someone's house and stab them?"

"Okay, so you think the opening and Mary's stabbing are related."

"Obviously. Sheesh, Decker. I thought you did this for a living."

"Then, we're supposed to assume that a demon or one of Hell's inhabitants has escaped?" Chloe asked.

"Something like that . . . ."

"Something _like_ that?"

"I'm not entirely sure about the specifics, but it'll probably make more sense once I've tracked down whatever stabbed your vic."

"How do we know that more of them won't come marching through the hole?" Chloe asked, forcing herself to sound calmer than she felt.

Maze shrugged her shoulders. "Seems unlikely. For one, they'd have to know the exact spot, and this is only a small tear. It isn't obvious. And even then, a demon can only escape if it has a body to inhabit, and the former humans are so messed up that it would never occur to them to escape. Of course, there's a handful of others down there who might try to get out, but if you're worried about the residents of Hell overrunning the Earth, it's not going to happen. If there's a line forming on the other side of this hole, it's a really short one."

"So is it just the one hole? Are there two? Three? How many? What if Hell's sprung a leak?" Chloe asked, firing the questions at Maze in rapid succession. "Maybe you should go there to find out what's going on."

"It's not like I can just pop down to Hell any time I want. An angel would have to fly me there. You really do need to brush up on your demonlore."

"But what about this tear? Can you not pass through it to the other side?"

"Probably, but Hell's a big place, and we don't know where this thing leads. I kind of like my life here now that I've gotten used to it. I don't want to take a chance that I wouldn't be able to come back."

"So what should we do?" Chloe asked.

"I'm going to track down the person—or thing—that came through the hole. And I need to get going before the escapee is able to put any more distance between us."

"All right. My car's out front. Let's go."

"No. No way. I'm working this one alone. We don't know who or what this is. We only know where it came from. And since I'm a bounty hunter _and_ a demon, I'm doubly-qualified to track it down. You'll just be in the way."

"Sorry, Maze. I'm coming with you. It's not negotiable," Chloe said as she followed Maze around the house in the direction of her cruiser.

"Decker, why do you have to be so stubborn? It makes sense for you to hang back here—or at the station. Someone needs to wait for Amenadiel to get back. In the meantime, you can poke around in the stabbing case to see if that lady knows anything that can help us i.d. who or _what _stabbed her."

"I suppose there's some sense to that," Chloe conceded. "Someone needs to try and keep the celestial stuff under wraps. We definitely don't want anyone else going near that hole. Hypothetically, if someone did go through the tear, what would happen?"

"Certain death."

"_They'd die?_ Maze, I put my hand in there."

"Well, it's a good thing you brought it back out quickly." At Chloe's horrified expression, she laughed, "I'm kidding. Just pile up some stuff in front of the hole. It's the best we can do. If some human is stupid enough to willingly enter Hell through a back door, that person deserves what they get. See ya', Decker. Let me know if your stabbing victim offers up anything useful."

"Wait, Maze," Chloe called as an even chillier thought occurred to her. "What if something's wrong with Lucifer? This wouldn't be happening if it were business as usual down there, would it?"

"Look, Decker. I only know what you know. He's probably just napping on the job."

"So you don't think he's in trouble?"

"Maybe. But I doubt it. If something had happened to Lucifer, I'd know. I mean, he _is_ my boss—on paper, that is. And besides, Amenadiel is down there with him. I'm sure they're fine."


	3. Chapter 3

"_Hello_," Lucifer said, greeting the former human with a tight smile as he slipped into Cell 4589754. "Let's get right to it, shall we? You were murdered in L.A., which means you might be of some use to me."

"Wait. I'm _dead_?"

"I would have thought that was rather obvious." It was always the same. Lucifer nearly yawned, lamenting the fact that in thousands of years, no one had come up with a way to speed up the processing time for new residents. "You look like a stick of licorice. That should've been your first clue."

"Wh-what's wrong with me? What happened to my face?!" Tears, tears and more tears . . . . Lucifer summoned a chair and prepared for a long wait. He examined his fingernails, removed lint from his pants and scrutinized several recent scuff marks on his shoes with a disparaging eye. "Let me know when you're ready," he said in a bored tone.

When Amenadiel filled the space on the other side of the door's grimy window, it was a welcome reprieve from all the weeping. "I'll give you some time to process your new accommodations," Lucifer told the man, who briefly looked up at him and nodded. "And then we'll talk about how you can help me."

Stepping out into the corridor, he nudged the door shut with his shoe and smiled properly for the first time in nine months. "Good to see you, Brother," he said, clapping Amenadiel on the back as they embraced.

"Lucy, what did you do to that man?" Amenadiel asked, glancing through the window at the crumpled figure in the cell.

"Nothing yet. Although I'll remind you that we _are_ in Hell. It's not a daycare. I wouldn't be doing my job if all you heard were a bunch of campfire songs echoing off the walls."

"I'm aware of that. He just seems so _upset_."

"He's just learned that he's shed his mortal skin and that he has an eternity of misery ahead of him. Wouldn't you be upset?"

"I suppose so," Amenadiel agreed.

"Weren't you charged with running this place in my absence, Brother? Surely, you're familiar with the way things operate down here."

"Well, it wasn't like I applied for the position. It was foisted upon me when you went off on your extended holiday," Amenadiel reminded him. "I'd be the first to admit that you're far better suited to the role than I am."

Lucifer laughed. "I'm sure you were a complete milksop. At the first hint of the sniffles from one of these wastrels, you'd have come prancing along with a box of tissues."

"Well, we all have our gifts," Amenadiel said, "and my talents are simply better suited to other tasks. Father groomed me for a different kind of work. He had other things in mind for you, as well, but we all know how that turned out."

"Yes, we do," Lucifer remarked with a hint of bitterness.

"All things considered, though, you've done well for yourself. Over the millennia, you've adapted surprisingly well to your post as King of Hell. Father may have thrown a handful of lemons at you, but you've definitely managed to turn it into lemonade."

"Is that a compliment, Brother?"

Amenadiel nodded. "It is." Stepping away from the window, he ran a hand across the back of his neck. With some hesitance, he finally said, "Listen, Lucy, we need to talk. I have something to discuss with you."

"Now, that sounds ominous. And here I thought you merely popped down for a visit because you missed me. It _has _been a while, you know. I was beginning to wonder if you'd forgotten about me altogether. How long's it been?" Lucifer asked, pretending to count the months on his fingers. "Oh yes, _nine_ months."

"I would've visited more often, but when I followed you down here after you left, you asked me to watch out for Chloe. And that's what I've been doing this entire time. Between her, Linda and Charlie, I've been busy. Surely, you understand that."

"That doesn't mean you couldn't swing by for an occasional visit. A devil does get lonely, you know," Lucifer grumbled. As it happened, however, Lucifer did understand the reason for Amenadiel's absence because luckily, his brother had offered the one explanation that was sure to assuage any resentments Lucifer might have been harboring. For if there was one being in Heaven or Hell about whom he cared more than himself, it was the Detective. Lucifer would willingly endure years—nay, centuries—of solitude if it enabled Amenadiel to keep her safe. And keeping the Detective safe did require Amenadiel to be present on Earth. "Well, then, at least tell me how she is," he said impatiently. "Nine months with no news leaves a fellow feeling rather parched."

"She's good. They all are."

"'She's _good_?' I've been away from the Detective for almost a year, and that's all you have to offer me?"

"Well, she misses you, of course. And according to Linda, she's not rebounding as quickly as might be hoped."

"_Rebounding?! _Well, I should hope not. Why would she need to rebound?"

"Surely, you don't want her to spend the rest of her time on Earth pining for you."

"I damn well do! She told me she loves me, and I want it to stay that way."

"But you also want her to be happy, don't you? Moving forward wouldn't necessarily mean she's forgotten you or that she no longer loves you. It would just mean she's continuing along her path and leading a full, meaningful life alone—or with someone else."

Lucifer quirked an eyebrow at Amenadiel. "You're just full of good news, _Brother_. So now you're telling me she's on the hunt for a new man?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying. I don't actually believe she's dating at all. Although, we have encouraged her to keep her options open."

"Well, I appreciate your loyalty," Lucifer snapped. "My wings aren't even cold in the ground yet, and you're encouraging her to swipe right over some lazy prat who could never be good enough for her. If you'll excuse me," he informed Amenadiel as he spun on his heel and walked swiftly down the corridor, "I find myself in desperate need of a drink."

"Don't tell me that you don't want what's best for Chloe," Amenadiel called after him. "You care more for her than you've ever cared for another being in all these millennia." When Lucifer didn't stop walking, Amenadiel jogged along the corridor until he caught up to him.

"Which is why I can't bear to think of her with anyone besides me. _Please_ tell me she hasn't taken on a new partner at the precinct." That fear alone had been responsible for seventy percent of Lucifer's nightmares since he'd returned to Hell. Seeing her linked romantically to someone else accounted for the remaining thirty percent.

"No, she doesn't have a new partner. From what Linda tells me, she's had trouble finding the right fit. Occasionally, she works with Dan. Surely, you don't feel threatened by him."

"Threatened by Detective Douche?" Lucifer scoffed. "He's like an old sock. No, I can honestly say that I don't feel threatened at all by _him_. She can work with Detective Douche all she wants," he said, feeling somewhat mollified. "What does she do with her time outside of work?"

"Well, there's Trixie, of course."

"Naturally. And anyone else?"

"No, Lucy," Amenadiel sighed. "There's no one else. I just told you, she's not seeing anyone. She's been on a few dates, but she hasn't clicked with anyone. Linda doesn't think it's healthy."

"What does Linda know?" Lucifer demanded. "Is she really in a position to offer an opinion on the situation?"

"She _is _a therapist. Linda's used to dealing with human emotions and is very good at what she does. She certainly helped you," Amenadiel pointed out, "which speaks highly for her abilities. If Linda says Chloe's in a bad place, then she probably is."

"Then, that makes two of us," Lucifer declared. "I, too, am in a bad place."

Not too far beneath Lucifer's grouchy, discontented exterior, he knew Amenadiel was right, of course. However, he certainly wasn't prepared to acknowledge that yet. The miserable hopelessness that had been plaguing him for nine months wasn't what he wanted for the Detective. She deserved so much more than that. He just wasn't ready to come to terms with the prospect of her moving forward without him. Not yet anyway. At the moment, and for the foreseeable future, Lucifer preferred to derive comfort from knowing that she felt as despondent as he did. He understood that it was selfish, and he hardly cared—especially because as much as he might fight against the notion, Lucifer knew with a sickening certainty that the Detective would eventually move on. She was a survivor, and at some point, she would find a new partner and someone new to love, leaving him sequestered in a windowless wasteland, alone and powerless to do anything about it.

"Tell me, Amenadiel," Lucifer asked, "how is it possible that even in Hell—where I'm surrounded by gloom and desolation—you still manage to be the biggest wet blanket in the place? Do you have any good news to relay or did you just come down here to drive a knife through my heart?"

"I'm afraid I do have news to relay, but it's not good."

"Very well. Out with it, then."

"I've had a visit from Jegudiel."

"Jegudiel? Well, now you've got my full attention, Brother. It must be serious if that sanctimonious prig was willing to go slumming outside the walls of the Silver City. Tell me, what did he want?"

"Apparently, there's a tear in the fabric separating Hell and Earth."

Lucifer chuckled to himself, purposely injecting a trace amount of acid into his tone. "It's just like Jegudiel to come down from his perch to try and point out my shortcomings. I'm sure he relished the opportunity to deliver the news that I wasn't doing my job down here."

"Lucy, do you know anything about this tear?"

"Of course not, because it doesn't exist. I'm the Ruler of Hell. I would know about a thing like that."

"Are you sure?"

"Are you accusing me of not doing my job, too?"

"No, but you do seem preoccupied. Can you honestly tell me that you're not just going through the motions down here? We both know your heart's not in it anymore."

"No, it's not. On that we can agree. Unfortunately, someone has to play Devil if we're going to keep the demons from overrunning father's little investment property. So, did our brother tell you where the _alleged_ tear is located?"

"All he said was that they'd detected a disturbance in the patterns and that it was small."

"How _very_ helpful," Lucifer sneered. "As usual, Jegudiel is quick to point out a problem and then offer no solution for fixing it. If this tear exists, it could be anywhere. Has anyone escaped?"

"We don't know."

"I'm sure you realize that even if I were completely oblivious to what's going on down here, a tear doesn't just happen. If there is a tear, I would worry less about its existence and more about how it got there."

"It could've been made by a celestial blade like the Flaming Sword," Amenadiel suggested.

"Except that I got rid of it."

"There could be others like it, though. Or the tear could've been a natural occurrence."

"When have you ever known such a thing to happen, Brother? As far as my memory serves, it hasn't occurred in all of eternity."

"I wouldn't discount the possibility," Amenadiel insisted. "Just think about it, Lucy. You and Hell are inextricably linked. One hardly exists without the other. And you've been dissatisfied with your lot since your return."

"That's an understatement."

"Well, how do you know that this tear isn't the physical manifestation of your dissatisfaction with having to be back here?"

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning that maybe your subconscious desire to leave resulted in a rip in the fabric of the very place you wish to exit."

"You _are_ correct about my desire to leave. But the rest of what you said is preposterous. Amenadiel, it seems that fathering an infant has rendered you not only sleep-deprived but also delusional."

"It's only a theory," Amenadiel conceded. "But the tear is undoubtedly very real. If Jegudiel actually left the Silver City to offer a warning, it's not a joke."

"I could hardly speculate as to the motives of a peacock like Jegudiel. However, if you're intent on searching for a tear that may not even exist, I'm willing to play along. Come, Watson, allow me to take you on a tour of the Underworld."

* * *

"It could be anywhere," Lucifer observed, draining the last of the amber-colored liquid from his glass. As always, it tasted like dishwater. Hell had a way of leeching every ounce of color from existence. He supposed that was the point of it, but why did he have to suffer along with the reprobates?

First stop on the Hell Tour had been Lucifer's subterranean penthouse—an exact replica of his Earthly dwelling above Lux—because he had insisted that if they were going to mount a full-scale search for a potentially nonexistent tear, he was going to need a few drinks first.

"You're absolutely right. We don't even know where to begin," Amenadiel said. Leaning back into the couch cushions, he propped up a boot on the coffee table. "Hell is vast. It would be impossible to search every corner of it. It could take centuries."

"Maybe we're looking at this the wrong way," Lucifer posited. "I mean, we only care about a tear if it can be used as a means of escape. So perhaps we should be inspecting those few areas where we know the inhabitants are capable of actually escaping."

"Good point, Brother. And who would those inhabitants be?"

"You really do have no idea what I do, do you?" Lucifer taunted him as he circled the room en route to the bar. "Well, it's unlikely that a demon would be at risk of escaping. If they're going to defy me—and I think I've got that matter pretty well in hand now—they only need a recently-expired body. They certainly don't require a doorway to escape. It would be of little use to them. Incidentally, the same applied to Mom. That's how she got out.

"Next up, we have the Damned, which is by far, the largest portion of the population. They would probably never even think about escaping. They're too tied up in knots for the possibility to register. And even then, they'd also need a body. That leaves only a select few who could actually make use of such an opportunity. So all we really care about is that the tear is nowhere near where they are."

"And who are they?" Amenadiel asked again, dropping his boot to the floor as he leaned forward on the leather sofa.

"Just a sad bunch of undesirables. In most cases, there was nowhere else to put them, which is why Dad sent them down here. You've always been Father's golden errand boy, so I'd imagine you even delivered one or two of them yourself. It's mostly fallen angels and the like. For the most part, they've been whiling away their millennia in one of the far corners of Hell. Of course, it wasn't a far corner when most of them got here. In our early days, we were much smaller, but as you might imagine, we've had to expand to meet the needs of the community."

"Your plan seems as good as any other," Amenadiel told him, standing up. "We should visit this far corner immediately."

"But I've just poured myself a second drink," Lucifer protested. Unfortunately, Amenadiel was already standing in the elevator waiting for him.

"Very well," Lucifer muttered, setting down his glass and slipping on his jacket as he walked toward the elevator to join his brother. "As always, the lights come on and the party grinds to a halt the second Amenadiel walks into the room . . . ."

* * *

"Welcome to what I like to call VIP Boulevard," Lucifer announced, opening his arms wide. "Only the most notable preternatural celebutantes are permitted entrée onto this block."

"Where should we start?" Amenadiel asked, looking through the window of a door to his right.

"Might as well start right here at the top of the corridor. I trust that all's well with that one?" he asked, indicating the cell Amenadiel had just inspected. "Do you see a fellow in a white robe and chains?"

"Why is he so distraught?"

"That's Azazel. He's always been a weeper."

"Ah, yes," Amenadiel recalled. "Father was particularly angry with him—and justifiably so. I can see why he cries. He must feel much remorse for his transgressions."

"I'm sure the weeping has less to do with his remorse and more to do with his punishment. His Hell loop involves being repeatedly dropped into a darkened pit filled with jagged stones. Not a very creative means of torture, but it manages to keep him occupied."

"And the next one?" Amenadiel asked as Lucifer cast a cursory glance through the window of the neighboring cell.

Shrugging a shoulder, Lucifer explained, "We don't even have to torture this one. The constant weeping in the adjacent cell is punishment enough."

When they reached the third cell, Amenadiel looked inside and drew back quickly. "Lucy, this one appears to be empty."

"As it should be. That one was Mom's. It's unoccupied at the moment."

"Oh, well, I suppose it's not unpleasant," Amenadiel said, scanning the room on the other side of the glass. "It's certainly not what I'd expect. I never realized Mom had such a passion for art."

Lucifer looked over his brother's shoulder, inspecting the empty cell. Having never visited his mother, he hadn't seen her cell firsthand. One wall was crowded with reproductions of Picasso, Renoir, Degas and a few other less notable painters who had been forgotten by the world during the course of a thousand years. Where one or two well-positioned paintings might have been sufficient, their mother had overpopulated the wall with a collection of nearly thirty such works, each of which was gilt-framed and mounted within an inch of its neighbor. "Subtlety was never Mom's forte," Lucifer remarked. "She was always a proponent of excess."

On the opposite wall, someone had mounted a flat screen television sufficient to rival an IMAX theatre and a top-of-the-line sound system. "I never would've imagined that such amenities would be available to the souls in these cells," Amenadiel commented. "Aside from the spatial limitations, this doesn't seem like such a bad existence."

"Yes, well, Mom may have charmed a demon or two into doing her bidding," Lucifer explained. "It was actually a bit of a problem while she was here. When she convinced one of them to install a mini bar in the corner, I had to re-assign the poor, besotted fellow to another wing. Thereafter, Maze became her tormentor."

Lucifer continued along the corridor. "Now, this one is an archangel who crossed Michael, so Father threw him down here a few hundred years ago," he said, moving along to the next cell. "And this one is Dromos. He's the only demon in this sector. I thought he deserved to be somewhere special after he tried to overthrow me and turn your son into Satan."

"We probably should have killed him on the spot."

"I considered it, Brother, but I feared we'd be letting him off too easily. He needed to be properly punished for his betrayal."

Moving along, Lucifer made a fist at the next cell and pounded on the metal door. "Everything all right in there?" he called out. "This cell belongs to someone_ really_ special. She's one of our oldest inhabitants, in fact. She wasn't cutting it on Earth, so as usual, she became my problem." Lucifer looked through the window and sighed. "It appears that she's playing a game with us. She's probably hiding in the corner nearest the door so we can't see her." Removing a master key from his pocket, he slipped it into the lock. As a consequence of its disuse, the key hesitated in the lock, but eventually the gears clicked into place and Lucifer pried open the door with a swift yank on the ornately carved handle.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," he sang out with a playful air as he thrust his head into the cell and scanned the space from left to right. Finding the room empty, he stepped aside to allow Amenadiel to enter. "Huh. She's not here. Maybe her handler moved her to a different cell."

"That seems doubtful," Amenadiel said, walking toward the center of the room. "I think it's clear enough what's happened here."

"You think she's escaped . . . ."

"Absolutely. Don't you?" Approaching a subtle pucker in the air, he leaned down and inspected it.

Joining Amenadiel, Lucifer reached out and gingerly massaged the disturbance with one hand. "_Bloody hell_. Jegudiel was right. It's a tear. Still, we can't be sure that it leads to Earth. It could be a portal to anywhere."

Amenadiel raised one leg off the ground and stepped through the tear. As his body melted into the rippling air, he disappeared. After several seconds, he reappeared. "It's Earth," he confirmed.

Lucifer groaned. "Naturally, it couldn't be a gateway to an uninhabited realm or some remote outpost where only vagrants congregate. Even the universe where I sent Mom would be preferable to Earth."

"So who is it?" Amenadiel asked warily, looking more concerned with every passing second. "Who's escaped?"

"Merely someone who has no business being set at liberty on Earth," Lucifer barked. "She wasn't able to make a go of it during her first run, and we can't allow her to have another whack at it. Who knows what kind of trouble she'll cause if left to her own devices? She's liable to turn the place into her own personal playground."

"_Lucifer, who is it_?" Amenadiel repeated with more force.

Running a hand through his hair, Lucifer finally threw up his hands and admitted the truth. "It's Lilith."


	4. Chapter 4

"Lilith?" Amenadiel echoed. "As in the mother of an entire demon race? The one with a penchant for killing newborn babies?"

Lucifer nodded. "The very one. Although the baby-killing part is mostly a myth. She simply doesn't care for the little miscreants. But let me assure you that even without the baby-killing, Lilith isn't someone we want on Earth. Trust me when I tell you there's a reason she was down here. She's always been trouble—rather like a gnat on crystal meth."

Amenadiel raised an eyebrow. "A gnat? That doesn't sound so bad, Lucy."

"Did you miss the part about the crystal meth?" Lucifer insisted. Leave it to his brother to expend months of worry about a non-existent threat to his son's safety and then fail to exude even a modicum of concern when it came to someone who could inflict harm upon a sizeable portion of the human populace. "Very well, allow me to paint the situation in terms you might better understand. Picture her as a gnat with venomous fangs who thrives on torturing male humans merely for her own amusement."

"Then, we have to get her back," Amenadiel said with a shrug.

"Oh, _do we_, Brother? You make it sound so simple."

"It is simple. If Lilith is like a gnat, then we simply need to find the bug and squash it."

"_Amenadiel_," Lucifer practically purred, rubbing his hands together. "It's unlike you to suggest violence as anything but a last resort. I _approve_."

"Of course, we have no idea when she escaped . . . . She could be anywhere. And how will we recognize her?"

"I, for one, would have no trouble recognizing her."

"That's right." Amenadiel grinned. "Weren't the two of you lovers?"

"There's no novelty in that. The same could be said of me and multitudes of women," Lucifer responded drily. "Lilith was merely a brief flame—an intense flicker that burned out almost as soon as I realized she was a lunatic. Fortunately, like Eve, she was created by the hand of God. She wasn't born into the world, so I think we can safely assume that she's reclaimed her old human form just like Eve did. And if that's the case, it will make her very easy to recognize."

"Then, you should be the one to go after her," Amenadiel suggested.

"Me? And who will watch over the rabble while I'm gone? As much as I hate being the King of Hell, there is a purpose to my presence here."

Amenadiel stared at Lucifer thoughtfully. At length, he said, "You've changed. In the past, you would never have passed up an opportunity to escape this place."

"Let's just say that I've accepted my lot. Besides, I have a vested interest in keeping demons from overrunning the Earth—at least for the next hundred or so years. When the Detective and her current offspring have moved on, all bets are off."

"I still think you should be the one to go after Lilith," Amenadiel said. "I'll stay down here and keep things under control until you get back."

Lucifer cocked his head in disbelief. "You're volunteering to captain the ship? What makes you so sure I'll come back?"

"Like I said, you've changed."

"Very well, then," Lucifer agreed, not opposed to a brief respite from his colorless existence in Hell. If Amenadiel was willing to babysit the riffraff for a while, he wasn't going to turn down the offer. "Just remember to make a strong showing of your authority. Don't let the damned souls tug on your sensibilities. There are no tissues in Hell, Amenadiel. And don't trust the demons. They make a pretense of loyalty, but they're all just lying in wait for the first sign of weakness from you."

"I'll be fine," Amenadiel assured him.

"As usual, your blind confidence in your abilities is your Achilles heel, Brother. Fortunately, I'll only be gone for a day or two at most. Even you should be able to manage things for that amount of time."

"In the meantime, I'll summon Azrael. It may not have been her blade that made the cut, but she might know how to mend it."

Lucifer eyed the tear, hoping that Amenadiel was correct and that it did, in fact, lead to Earth. "Very well. If I'm going, I might as well pop through right here. It makes sense to follow the breadcrumbs from their origin." Handing the master key to his brother, he said, "After I'm gone, you'll need to lock the door to Lilith's cell. And keep it locked. We don't want anyone else slipping away."

"You do realize that if my theory is true, the rips and tears might begin to appear in other areas. Jegudiel felt sure that at the moment, it's just the one. But who knows what may happen if we don't find a way to address the underlying issue."

"If your theory is true, it would stand to reason that while I'm not in Hell, I can't be dissatisfied with it. Ergo, no more rips or tears for the foreseeable future . . . . If, however, your theory is rubbish, as I imagine it is, you may want to be on the lookout for more of the same. And if I were you, I'd also speak to Azrael to find out what other celestial objects might be capable of creating this type of cut. There might have been a companion to her blade."

As Lucifer slipped one leg through the opening, Amenadiel reached for his arm, holding him firmly in place. "What about Chloe?"

"What about her?" Lucifer asked, forcing his voice to remain steady.

"Will you see her while you're there?"

"I'm not sure if that would be wise," Lucifer responded, experiencing an overwhelming mixture of anxiety and anticipation at even the hint of a reunion with the Detective. On the one hand, it had been nine months. Lucifer was anxious because he had no idea what damage his absence might have done to their relationship. On the other hand, it had been _nine months_. He was positively salivating at the possibility of seeing her after such a long absence. Shaking his head, he said, "I'd just be getting her hopes up for ought because I can't stay."

"_Her_ hopes or yours?"

Lucifer didn't respond to Amenadiel's question, but he knew the answer. "Mine," he murmured to himself as he slipped through the tear. "Definitely mine."

* * *

Lucifer stepped through the tear with all due caution, only to find himself in a garden, of sorts. As landing pads went, it wasn't unsightly. Lilith might have emerged into a seedy alley or a dimly-lit parking lot. As far as Lucifer was concerned, she should count herself extremely lucky that this, of all places, had been the spot.

Mere inches above his head, a white arbor arched through the air. It was heavily-laden with an undisciplined tangle of leaves and vines interspersed with the occasional purple flower. As Lucifer stepped out from beneath it, the rich colors, the crisp sounds and the fresh scents overwhelmed him in the best possible way. With Hell firmly at his back—at least for the time being—he immersed himself in the sensations that sprang forward to present themselves to him from all sides. Life, in all its splendor, greeted him like a warm, spring breeze, swirling around him with the force of a tornado. Such was always the case when he returned to Earth after an extended absence. Normally, it might take weeks for the newness to even begin to wear off and in the meantime, Lucifer had an unfettered tendency to overindulge in all the pleasures offered by the Earthly experience.

This time was different, though. Somehow breaking through the captivating tendrils of life that called to him from every angle, Lucifer shook himself soundly and recalled that he had an assignment to carry out. He needed to locate Lilith. And that had to happen quickly before she was afforded the opportunity of growing comfortable in her old stomping ground.

Around the base of the arbor, Lucifer noted with some confusion, that someone had erected a makeshift barricade. Perhaps it had been constructed with the intention of protecting the hole, but he had to wonder how any humans would know to do that. At any rate, the unsightly collection of oil drums, trash barrels and mop buckets seemed sufficiently off-putting to ward off most humans, so stepping around one such obstacle, he set out along a crushed-gravel path toward a yellow bungalow at the other end of the yard.

Raising and lowering the crime scene tape that announced the LAPD's involvement, Lucifer allowed himself to appreciate that the tear had led them to Los Angeles and not to some remote locale in South Dakota or an island in the South Pacific. He scolded himself for thinking that Amenadiel might have a point. If the tear was a manifestation of his subconscious desire to return to Earth, it would make sense that it led to L.A. After all, everything he truly cared about was there.

And now that his feet were firmly back on the terrestrial plane, he knew with a mounting certainty that he wouldn't be able to leave again without seeing the Detective. He simply wasn't that strong. Anxiety and dashed hopes be damned. A return to Hell without seeing her would deprive him of the only thing he had desired during the past nine months, and Lucifer had never been one to deprive himself of anything that he truly desired. With any luck, he could find Lilith, stash her away in a secure location and salvage a spare moment with the Detective before returning to his post.

Having made that decision, Lucifer's next thought was what sort of reception he might get when he did see the Detective again. Would she still feel the same way? Would she be angry with him for leaving? He knew from her recent message that she still missed him, but did it follow that she still loved him? Amenadiel seemed to think that she was pining for him, but what did his brother really know about human emotions? Until he saw and spoke to the Detective himself, Lucifer couldn't know for sure if her affections had waned during their separation. The "what-ifs" were too much for him to process, so instead, he returned his focus to the search for Lilith, readily welcoming the temporary distraction.

Lucifer opened the screen door leading to the back porch, instantly noting the blood splatter. The stains were fresh—he knew that much from the heavy scent of iron that permeated the air. Lilith certainly knew how to make an entrance.

The house appeared to be empty, indicating that the police had finished gathering evidence and left the crime scene. In his experience, the initial part of the investigation might take hours to complete. So obviously, if Lilith had preceded the police, she had an advantage of at least a few hours on him.

A quick sweep of the interior confirmed that the home was, in fact, empty. As Lucifer well knew, at the call from dispatch, a swarm of detectives and officers would have descended upon the tiny cottage, ravaged it in search of evidence and left it behind like a carcass that had been picked clean. He wondered if the victim was dead. If so, the Detective might be working the case. That would certainly be an interesting twist and one that would accelerate the timing of their reunion. Was he prepared for that? Did he dare go to her? For practical reasons apart from his own desires, Lucifer felt that he must. If the LAPD was involved, the Detective was his logical first stop. She might have information that could lead him to Lilith, and even if she didn't, she'd be able to help him gain access to what he needed. Although Lucifer was apprehensive, the pull was too strong, and it took very little to convince him that joining forces with the Detective was the right decision.

Lucifer bisected the front yard, feeling nervous and fidgety at the prospect of their reunion. He was also excited, however, and as he walked along the sidewalk bordering the street, he lengthened his stride and casually raised one arm as if hailing a cab, knowing that it wouldn't be long before someone stopped to pick him up. Practically on queue, a minivan braked beside him and the driver's window slowly descended into the door frame.

"You look lost," the woman observed, offering him a kittenish grin as she unconsciously smoothed back the tangled mass of curls framing her face. "I don't imagine you're out for a walk. Not in that suit and those shoes. Do you need a ride somewhere?"

From the back of the van, Lucifer heard the squeals of an infant and the cacophonous shrieks of anywhere from one to a hundred older children. Cringing, he smiled stiffly at the woman and walked toward the vehicle, willing to sacrifice his personal comfort if it brought him closer to the Detective—and to Lilith, of course.

When a horn honked behind the van, Lucifer looked up and with a grateful sigh, noted a peppy, red convertible driven by a young woman who appeared to be on her way to the beach, if the bikini top and surf board were any indication. "It seems that my ride has just arrived," he informed the driver of the van and watched as the frown lines creased her forehead.

"Are you sure?" she called, leaning out the window.

"I couldn't be more so," he muttered to himself, but aloud, he only said, "Yes, but I thank you for the offer."

As he approached the convertible, he aimed his natural magnetism directly at the young surfer. Tossing her hair behind her shoulder, the girl giggled helplessly and reached across the car to open the passenger door for him—no questions asked.

* * *

Chloe knocked on the doorframe of the detective's office. They'd never met, but as he looked up from the file on his desk, he seemed inexplicably pleased to see her.

"Detective Simpson?" she confirmed, wondering what she'd done to warrant such a reception. Chloe performed a visual sweep of the office and the man behind the desk. Tousled brown hair, youthful brown eyes and a face you could trust, she noted, deciding that Ella's characterization of him as a "cutie" was pretty close to the mark.

"Evan. Call me Evan," he said as he rounded his desk and transferred a stack of files from the guest chair to a nearby table. Indicating the stack of files, he said, "I've got a small backlog going. The other guys down here give me a ribbing about it, and I keep telling them that if people would just stop committing crimes, I could get myself caught up."

Chloe laughed. "I know the feeling."

"I'm sure you do. Please sit," he urged her, motioning toward the chair and reclaiming his own seat behind the desk.

"Okay, sure," she agreed, smiling hesitantly as she crossed the room and sank into the cracked leather seat across from Evan.

"What can I do for you, Detective Decker?"

"Well, I was going to introduce myself, but it sounds like that's not necessary." Returning his smile, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and tried not to feel self conscious. The detective—Evan—was staring. Hard. He was fidgety, and possibly even . . . blushing? "You can call me Chloe," she said, hoping to put him at ease.

"Chloe," he repeated. "What can I do for you, Chloe?"

"Well, I was actually just checking on a case—more of a curiosity thing than anything else," she explained. "This morning, Dispatch put a call through to me by mistake, and I ended up at the stabbing over on Bluebird Street. I was just wondering how the investigation was going. It looked like a pretty messy scene over there . . . ."

"Yeah," he agreed, closing one file and opening another one. "Not much on that one yet. The vic's out of surgery, though, and she's stable. We're hoping to speak to her later this afternoon. We just got the knife back from the hospital and sent it off to the lab for processing. I'm hoping they'll be able to grab some prints off of it."

Pulling fingerprints off of the knife was a lost cause, Chloe thought, but he'd have to reach that conclusion himself. "Is that a picture of the knife?" she asked, leaning toward the file. "It looked pretty ornate, from what I could see earlier."

"Yep, that's it. Definitely not your standard switchblade. More of a combat knife . . . but different. Smaller, and the curved blade is interesting," he said, tracing a finger over the blade in the photo. "I've never run across anything like it before."

"You know, I've got a knife expert who's helped me on a few cases in the past. I could put in a call to her. She might recognize the engravings."

"That'd be great," he said with too much enthusiasm. The grin was back again, too. "Let me get you a copy of this picture. I'll be right back."

As he disappeared to the copy room down the hall, Chloe stood up, preparing to leave. It sounded like they didn't know much more than she'd already observed at the crime scene. From the photo, she could see the knife more clearly, and it definitely looked like a lot of Maze's blades. With any luck, Maze would be able to identify the knife's origin or interpret something useful from the engravings on the blade.

"Thanks for doing this," Evan said as he re-entered the room and held out the photocopy toward Chloe.

"Not a problem. I'll let you know if my expert comes up with anything," she said, subtly edging around him toward the door.

Reaching out suddenly, he touched Chloe's arm. "Hey, wait . . . ." When she registered surprise, he let his hand drop back to his side.

"What's up?" she asked, noting his flushed countenance and ping-pong gaze.

"Um, I'd actually been hoping to bump into you at some point . . . ."

Chloe nodded slowly, waiting for the inevitability of what was to come. She could see the trajectory now. He was working his way up to asking her out on a date.

"I've only been here at the precinct for a month or so, you know, and I've seen you around the building . . . ."

"Yeah, same here," she said, adding a small smile to the mix. That was a lie. She hadn't noticed him at all before walking into his office, but that was entirely on her. Evan was definitely worth a second—or even a third, fourth or fifth—look, and she knew that if she hadn't been so distracted, she'd have noticed him.

"I was actually looking for an opening with you. And this is embarrassing," he admitted, narrowing his eyes, "but I may have asked around about you."

"So you're a stalker," she laughed.

"I'm afraid so," he admitted, looking relieved that she appeared receptive to the direction the conversation was leading.

"And what did you find out about me?" As first impressions went, Chloe decided that she liked Evan—at least enough to play along until the conversation's natural conclusion. He wasn't artificial like so many of the men she encountered. He was nervous, which was a good sign because it meant that he liked her enough to get worked up about it. It also meant that he probably wasn't a serial dater. His lack of polish was, in her opinion, a mark in his favor.

"Well, according to Gina in Booking, you're a single mom—we have that in common, by the way."

"You're a single mom?"

Tilting his head, he grinned at her. "Single _dad_. Two boys. Five and seven."

"So what else did Gina tell you?"

"Just that you've been with the Department for a while. You're a first-rate homicide detective. You worked with the same partner steadily for about three years, but lately you've been solo more often than not. That's about it," he acknowledged with a shrug.

"Sounds about right. There's not much more to know. I'm actually kind of boring."

"I didn't say that," he responded quickly. "Look, I don't do this much—or ever, if you really want to know the truth. So I'm probably screwing it up."

"No, no, you're doing fine," Chloe assured him.

"I just thought, maybe, uh, if you're not taken—and it's hard to believe that you're not—we could get dinner sometime."

Chloe swallowed, realizing she was on the verge of accepting the offer. Evan was nice. He was interested. He was _really _good-looking. And he sucked at hitting on women, which meant that he probably wasn't out tearing up the singles' scene every night. Chloe knew that she'd be crazy not to accept him. So it was with a deep breath and a heavy sigh that she finally told him, "I-I can't."

The expression she received in response clearly expressed confusion and embarrassment. "Oh, I thought—"

"I know you did," she finished for him. "And I gave you every reason to think that I would say yes, so this is all on me. Please don't feel embarrassed. I really did want to accept. But listen, here's the thing . . . I'm sure you're a nice guy, Evan. I can see that you are, actually, and I really appreciate the offer. I just—I've tried this a few times already. It doesn't ever seem to work."

"_This_?" he asked, and she saw that her explanation had done very little to clear away the confusion in his mind. She needed to be more direct.

"I meant that I've tried dating. A few times since . . . ." Chloe trailed off. _A few times since Lucifer_, was what she wanted to say. "I gave it a shot—a few shots, actually—and you know what? I think I'm just done with dating. As much as I like you, I'm going to have to pass on dinner."

"Did I say something wrong? If I did, I'm really sorry. I've never been very good at asking out women, and I'm pretty rusty."

"No, no, you didn't say anything wrong," Chloe rushed to reassure him. "It's just that, well, your sources were wrong. Actually, I _am _taken."

"You are?"

"Yep," she confirmed.

"It was your partner, wasn't it? That's why you aren't assigned to anyone permanently."

"Yes. He was—_is_—my partner."

As she exited Evan's office, Chloe felt relieved. She'd made a decision, and it felt liberating. Linda would have advised her that it wasn't wise to close herself off to new "experiences." Amenadiel would have frowned at her, communicating disappointment in that quiet way of his. Even Ella would have urged her to give Evan a chance. But from Chloe's perspective, it just wasn't right—not now and not for the foreseeable future. She was lonely, but she was only lonely because she wasn't with Lucifer. No other man was going to fill that void.

Linda had encouraged her to live a productive life. That was certainly a nice goal, but going forward, she decided that dating other men was not how she planned to do that. If being productive and healthy was the objective, she would concentrate on other ways of achieving it. Certainly, Trixie was a "given" and always had been. She could focus more on her friendships with Ella, Maze and Linda. Maybe start a Book Club? Or join the precinct's bowling league? There were other ways to lead a healthy, productive life. She would simply figure out what they were, and she would do them.

Pulling out her phone, she skimmed through her Contacts and pressed Send as she climbed the precinct stairs. "Maze, it's me. How's the search going?"

"It'd be better if I knew who, or what, I was looking for."

"You haven't found anything yet?"

"I've got a few ideas but nothing concrete."

"Whoever it is must be capable of blending in without leaving much of a trail," Chloe observed.

"Hmmm, interesting theory, Decker. Maybe it's someone who's spent time on Earth before . . . ."

"I'm going to go back over to the victim's house to canvass some of the neighbors again. I'm thinking that the cops doing the questioning might not have asked the _right _questions the first time around."

"I'll meet you there. Maybe we can get a better description of the attacker. I need a little more to go on. I usually have at least a _picture_ of the bounty I'm trying to track down."

"I actually do have a picture," Chloe admitted. "But it's not of a person. It's the knife."

"Could be just as good. When it comes to celestial blades and those who wield them, they're often one and the same. I'll see you in a few, Decker."

* * *

"Good luck with the Detective, Lucifer," Tawny said as he exited the car in front of the precinct. "If she's as special as you say she is, there's no way she won't be just as much in love with you as she always was. A love like that doesn't come along every day."

_Or every millennia_, he thought to himself.

Once inside, Lucifer headed for the Detective's desk immediately. As he descended the stairs, he bounced lightly in his loafers. Well aware that he was grinning like a prized sap, he scanned the area at the base of the stairs in search of _his _Detective. When he noted her empty chair, he relinquished his smile in an instant.

During the ride to the precinct, Lucifer had mentally sketched out the way that his reunion with the Detective would unfold. In fact, he'd crafted several acceptable scenarios. In all of them, the Detective looked up from her desk as he walked into the precinct and smiled—or perhaps cried—at the prospect of their unexpected reunion. After that initial meeting, he'd imagined several different alternatives. Lucifer's favorite variation involved him sweeping her up and carrying her off to the Interrogation Room, where they'd make a hearty effort to reacquaint themselves with each other properly. And although that scenario was certainly preferable, a more plausible one involved them staring awkwardly at each other, unsure of how to behave after being apart for so long. The tension would be thick, but eventually they would cut through it and normalcy would be restored. When it came to his imaginings, Lucifer was certainly open to a nip here or a tuck there, but the one commonality across all of his hypotheticals had been that they each required the Detective's presence! As such, her unexplained absence at such a momentous time was positively maddening for Lucifer.

Lucifer's confidence took a nosedive as he processed a sudden realization: the Detective was away from her desk because she was out living her life. She had interests and friends and commitments that were wholly independent of him. And she certainly did not seem to be pining for him, as Amenadial had led him to believe.

Feeling frustrated and a bit lost, he surveyed the precinct and determined that for the time being, he'd have to accept a far less acceptable substitute. Near the bottom of the stairs, Detective Douche stood with his back to Lucifer, examining a case file. For the present, The Douche would have to do.

"Hello, Daniel," Lucifer said, approaching the detective and clapping a hand over his shoulder. In truth, Lucifer was surprised by the rush of nostalgia that Daniel invoked in him. In that moment, he realized that he might have missed the man a tiny bit during the months he'd been away.

If the look Lucifer received in response to his greeting was any indication, however, the feeling was not mutual.

"What're you doing here, man?" Dan asked, shaking off Lucifer's hand.

"Still quite the charmer, I see. You know, I can't believe I'm saying this, but in spite of your very obvious and unwarranted hostility toward me, I find that I'm actually glad to see you, Daniel."

"Well, that makes one of us."

"I don't suppose you've seen the Detective around?"

"Yeah, I've seen her."

"Well, would you mind telling me _where _you've seen her?"

Lucifer's question was acknowledged with a blank stare that slowly morphed into a scowl. "I sure as Hell would mind. You know, it was a real dick move taking off like that."

"Why Daniel, I didn't realize you cared so much."

"I'm not talking about _me_. I'm talking about what you did to Chloe. She was a wreck for weeks after you took off."

"As was I," Lucifer informed him. In fact, he was still a wreck. And the fact that the Detective was not even at her desk to afford them a proper reunion was not helping matters. "I can assure you that my departure was unavoidable. I left for the good of all mankind."

"Whatever you need to tell yourself," Dan muttered. "It's nice to see that you haven't changed one bit during the time you've been gone."

"Why would I need to change?"

"Look, that's between you and your shrink. Just stay away from Chloe, all right? She's doing the best she can, and you're like some bad penny that just keeps showing up to hurt her."

"_A bad penny_?" Lucifer scoffed, taking offense at the suggestion that he would ever do anything intentional to harm the Detective-not to mention the outrageous comparison between him and an ordinary piece of loose pocket change.

"_STAY AWAY_," Dan repeated, walking over to his desk and spreading out the file he'd been examining.

Before Lucifer could properly process the insult, he found himself being victimized by two small but forceful arms. The assault came at him from behind, affording no opportunity for him to dodge it. "Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh," squealed the accompanying voice as Miss Lopez exacted a very warm and very fuzzy hug upon him. "I can't believe you're back!"

"Miss Lopez," he smiled, rotating in her arms and reluctantly reciprocating the hug. "How are you?"

"I'm great," she told him, bouncing back on her heels as she released him. "Me and the Big Guy are back on good terms again. And you're not gonna' believe this, but I've got a furry new friend to keep me company."

"You got a dog?"

"No, a ferret, actually. His name is Wiggles, and he's _so_ adorable. I mean, he will absolutely melt your heart. I can't wait for you to meet him. Wait—has Chloe seen you yet? She's going to _die_."

"Not yet," he admitted. "I'd hoped she might be here when I arrived, actually."

"Ohhhhh, bummer. Yeah . . . you just missed her. She's with Maze. They're working a case together. But when she gets back, she is going to be _so, so, SO _happy to see you."

"Are you sure about that?" he asked. If his confidence had been flagging prior to running into Dan, their encounter had only managed to trample what was left of it.

"Sure, I'm sure," Ella said. "Why would you even need to ask that?" Lucifer glanced at Dan's desk, and Ella followed his gaze. "Hey, don't listen to Dan. He's just worried about her. I mean, sure, she took it really hard when you left, and it hasn't been easy on her without you here, but I know for a _fact_ that she is going to be _stoked_ to see you."

"Does she hate me for leaving?" he asked, nudging Ella toward her office as a means of affording them additional privacy.

Sliding onto a stool at her table, Ella waved away the suggestion. "No way. She just misses you. A LOT. And now that you're back, everything can get back to normal."

Lucifer leaned on the table across from her and tried not to fidget. He didn't have the heart to tell her that his return was only temporary—_very_ temporary. "How do you know she still feels the same way?"

"Because I've seen what the two of you have, and feelings like that don't just fade. And also because she and I are friends. Compadres. Gal pals. We talk about stuff."

"She talks to you about me? What does she say?" Lucifer asked, leaning forward. He was eager to lap up any gossip Miss Lopez was willing to toss his way.

"Uh-uh. I can't divulge that to you. It would be an unforgivable Girl Code violation."

"But I need to know how she feels about me," he insisted.

"You do know," Ella said. "And if that's not enough, just take my word for it, okay?"

"I've missed you, Miss Lopez. You always know exactly what to say to bolster a Devil's spirits."

"So _anyway_, how was it?" Ella asked, ignoring his casual mention of the "D" word as if he'd just told her he was planning a visit to the coffee machine.

"How was what?"

"Duh. You know what I'm talking about, you big goof," she insisted, leaning across the table and punching Lucifer playfully on the arm.

"I'm afraid I don't," he admitted, forcing an uncomfortable laugh.

"Three letters," Ella whispered. "C.I.A."

"What does the Central Intelligence Agency have to do with anything?"

"Chloe told us about your assignment."

"Oh she did, did she?" he asked, wishing the Detective had also told _him_ about the assignment. Then again, their goodbye had been of a short duration with little time to discuss logistics like his cover story.

"Well, she didn't give details or anything. And she didn't actually say C.I.A. She just said your assignment was classified."

"What else did she say?"

"Not too much. She told us where you were and that it might be years before you could come back to L.A. _Deep cover_," Ella breathed in a loud whisper. "You must've had such a blast. I mean, I've only been there once when I was a senior in high school, but it was _AH-MAZING_. Lucifer, you're _so_ lucky."

Wondering where 'there' was, Lucifer drew in a shallow breath and dove in. "Yes, it was lovely, although I was mostly there for work, as the Detective told you."

"Well, if you're going to get stuck somewhere on a work assignment, there are _definitely_ worse places to be. Am I right? I mean, the people . . . the nightlife . . . walking along the water, the food, the wine . . . ." Ella sighed.

"Naturally, the nightlife was exceptional, but as I said, I was working most of the time."

"But surely you made time for a little fun, too." She made a wave motion with her hands and swayed back and forth.

"Oh right. _The beaches_," Lucifer concluded. "Well, naturally, I enjoyed the ocean quite a bit while I was there."

"The ocean?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him. "What ocean?"

"You tell me, Miss Lopez," he said, feeling intensely frustrated by the cryptic conversation. "Did you or did you not make a wave motion with your hand?"

"Huh? Ohhhhh . . . that was me getting my groove on. You know, at the clubs in Paris."

"_Paris_," he repeated with great relief, adding, "where I was on my top-secret mission with the C.I.A. _Yes_, there was quite a bit of dancing in Paris." This, Lucifer reminded himself, was precisely why it was always better to tell the truth. Lying was far too exhausting.

"And it sounds like you spent some time at the coast, as well."

"Of course. One could hardly spend an extended period in Paris without zipping down to Saint Tropez for an occasional long weekend."

"Oh la la. _Saint Tropez_," she cooed. "I've always wanted to visit a topless beach. The French are so much more enlightened about that stuff than we are here."

"Yes, well, naturally there were topless beaches," Lucifer agreed. "Scads of them, in fact. But after a while, once you've seen one, you've seen them all."

"Yeah, I guess I can see that," she agreed. "And at any rate, I'm sure nothing could possibly compare to _international espionage_."

Lucifer smiled tightly, eager to put an end to a conversation that was, in no way, based in reality. "Not to change the subject, Miss Lopez, but would you be willing to help me with a case I'm investigating?"

"Sure. What case?"

"Someone was attacked at 34 Bluebird Street," he explained. "I'm afraid that's all I know. The LAPD was on scene, but they were gone by the time I got there."

"How did you find out about it?"

"Let's just say that I stumbled right into the middle of it, and I have reason to believe that a friend might be involved."

"Well, let me see," Ella said, opening her laptop and pulling it toward her. She began typing and within seconds, she read, "Mary Louise Trager. Stabbing victim. It's not a homicide, so this one's downstairs. Was Mary a friend of yours?"

"Hardly. I never met her."

"But you said the case involved a friend."

"I meant the assailant—"

"Don't you mean the _alleged_ assailant?" Ella corrected him.

"No, she's definitely guilty. And to be perfectly honest, she's not my friend so much as a lecherous degenerate who's escaped from the bowels of Hell. It's my job to round her up and toss her back into her cell where she belongs. And this time, when I get her back there, I'm going to make sure she's shackled and chained down properly."

Ella took the liberty of waiting a beat before erupting into laughter. "Oh_ wow_, I missed you, Buddy! I'll never understand how you manage to keep such a straight face when you talk about that stuff, but it's _hilarious_." Pivoting the laptop toward him, she pointed to a photo on the screen. "Hey, check this out. This is what your _friend _used to stab the vic. Sure is one weird-ass knife."

Privately, Lucifer acknowledged that it was only weird if you'd never seen a demon's blade before. One of his guards had obviously given it to Lilith prior to her escape. Lucifer stifled a yawn. Yet another celestial being he would have to find and punish when he got back to Hell . . . . The list just kept getting longer. At one time, he would have relished the opportunity to hunt down and punish Lilith and her accomplice. But now, he found that his heart simply wasn't in it. Since he'd reclaimed his throne nine months before, he'd become nothing more than an ordinary night watchman going about his rounds, and as it turned out, he was no longer particularly competent at that either.

"This says the assailant stabbed the victim and fled from the scene before the police showed up," Ella read. "It was a female . . . on foot. Probably couldn't have gotten far."

"Thank you, Miss Lopez. I think I'll head back over to the neighborhood where the victim was stabbed. If, as you say, the assailant is on foot, I may happen upon her. Would you mind calling me an Uber?"

"Sure thing. But where's your car? And your phone?"

"As to the car, if my brother followed instructions, it should have been properly garaged after my departure. As to my phone, I honestly have no idea. I suppose it's at Lux," he decided, but he couldn't be sure. It's not like he'd taken the time to put everything to rights before his departure. "Speaking of phones, I'd prefer not to let the Detective know that I'm back yet. I'd rather see her face-to-face. So if you do speak to her . . . ."

"Got it," Ella said, making a zipping motion across her lips. "It's in the vault. And good luck finding your friend."


	5. Chapter 5

"You made good time," Maze observed as Chloe joined her on the sidewalk in front of Mary's house.

"Yeah, traffic was light for once." Chloe pulled a piece of paper from her back pocket and unfolded it as she handed it to Maze. "So, here's a picture of the knife. It looks like one of yours, doesn't it?"

Maze slid her index finger across the page. "See these markings? They're symbols. This knife belonged to one of the Lilim."

"Who or _what_ are the Lilim?"

"I guess you humans would probably call them my siblings. We share the same demon mother in common."

Chloe closed her eyes briefly and shook her head. "You know, a year ago, I would've been shocked by that statement."

"You've come a long way, Decker," Maze said, bumping shoulders with Chloe in a small sway of approval.

"But I thought you said a demon would have a difficult time using the hole to escape."

"Yeah, it wouldn't make any sense. They'd need to occupy a recently-deceased body. The tear wouldn't be of any use to them. It's got to be someone else who got the knife from a demon."

"Meaning, they stole it?"

"Or it was given to them . . . ."

"But aren't the demons loyal to Lucifer?"

Maze rolled her eyes. "Usually, but most of them can be bought or persuaded," she said, seemingly catching a thought and giving it consideration. Just as quickly, though, she appeared to dismiss it and move on.

"What is it, Maze? You looked like you might have an idea."

"Nah. Not really. So where do you want to start?" she asked, eyeing the long line of houses on both sides of Bluebird Street.

"Mary's next door neighbor," Chloe informed her, walking up a tidy path of pavers to the front door. As she pressed the doorbell, she glanced sideways and groaned. "Maze, do you have to stand like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you're going to kill someone. If you could just try to put them at ease . . . you know, be a little less—"

Chloe was interrupted by the sound of the door creaking on its hinges. Ever so slowly, it opened a tentative half foot, revealing a small elderly man who inspected them with obvious apprehension. In particular, he watched Maze with the evident intent of slamming the door shut if she made any sudden movements.

"We're not going to kill you, if that's what you're worried about," Maze told him, flashing an alarmingly toothy grin at the man.

"Maze," Chloe hissed. "What are you _doing_? You're grinning like a serial killer."

"You said to put him at ease, Decker, so that's what I'm trying to do. You feel relaxed, don't you?" she asked the man.

His eyes darted from Maze to Chloe and back again. "If I say 'no' are you going to shove a knife between my ribs?"

"We're with the LAPD," Chloe interjected quickly before Maze could answer. Throwing out an arm, she nudged Maze backwards and stepped in front of her. "Forgive my friend. She's a bounty hunter, and she's used to being _abrupt_. Are you James Tuttle?"

"Yes, that's me." Chloe's explanation seemed to calm Mr. Tuttle, and he edged open the door a few extra inches. "I thought she might be the person who stabbed my next door neighbor this morning."

"No way," Maze announced from behind Chloe. "That was some really sloppy work. The person who sliced up your neighbor didn't know anything about wielding a dem—"

"_Oookay_," Chloe said, glaring at Maze. "We're actually here to speak to you about Mary's stabbing. I know someone might have already come by to talk to you, but we have a few follow-up questions."

"Sure, but like I told the other officers, I didn't see anything."

"Are you sure?" Chloe asked. "You didn't see anyone running away from the scene before the EMTs arrived?"

"No, I was inside watching the Price is Right. I only came to the door when I heard the sirens out on the street. Is Mary going to be all right?"

"We don't know yet, but she's stable. She's at the hospital if you want to check on her."

He chuckled shyly. "I don't think so. She's not a very nice lady. No one on the street likes her. I mean, I wouldn't wish her any harm," he added quickly. "And I'm glad she's okay. It's a terrible thing to happen to a person—even someone like her."

"So you didn't see anything," Chloe confirmed, stepping back from the doorway.

"Nope. Not a thing. Sorry."

"Well, thank you for your time." They backed away as the man shut the door.

"Wow, sounds like Mary was a real bitch," Maze said, nodding appreciatively. "Seems like she got what she deserved."

"That's not for us to say," Chloe reminded her as they walked across the lawn to the next house.

"Yeah, yeah, don't tell me you weren't thinking the same thing."

"Maze, just let me do the talking this time."

"Your loss." Maze shrugged as they approached the porch. Reaching out, she punched the doorbell with her thumb.

"Hi, we're with the LAPD," Chloe said smoothly when a woman opened the door. "Are you Brenda Taylor?"

"Yes, that's me."

"I know someone might have already been by this morning, but we have a few more questions."

"No, no one's been by," Brenda answered. "Then again, I might have missed them when I went out to get some eggs for my niece's graduation cake."

"And when you got back, had they left?"

"Well, there were police cars all over the street, but no one ever came by to ask me any questions."

"How long were you gone?" Chloe asked, scribbling a few lines in her notepad.

"Hmmm . . . I'd say it was about an hour-and-a-half. Could've been closer to two hours."

"Seems like a long time just to buy some eggs," Maze commented.

Brenda pursed her lips and sighed. "Yeah, it took a lot longer than I expected. After I left, I stopped to pick up a woman who was walking down the street. That was probably a mistake, but you know, hindsight's always 20-20. I'll know better next time."

"Wait," Chloe said. "She was walking down _this _street?"

"Yes, right after I left here. And she wasn't walking so much as running in a crazy, disoriented kind of way. She was a real mess, if you wanna' know the truth. I almost didn't stop for her because I thought she was on something. But then I remembered what Pastor Jim keeps saying about loving your neighbor, and well, my conscience got the better of me."

"How far down the street were you when you saw her?" Chloe asked. "And what time was it?

"Eh, she was down at the corner of Bluebird and Oakland. And I'd guess it was around eleven o'clock. She was real freaked out. Her hair was an absolute mess. Her clothes were in tatters. She really looked like she'd been through something."

"Like she'd been through Hell?" Maze suggested and promptly received a disapproving look from Chloe.

"Yeah. I guess," Brenda conceded.

"So you pulled over when you saw her running down the street," Chloe continued. "And then what?"

"I asked her if she was all right. At first, she seemed like she wasn't sure. And she didn't appear to know where she was. I hated to just leave her there, so I offered her a ride. She nodded yes and got in the car. Then, the problem was that I didn't know what to do with her. I wasn't sure where she came from, and I didn't want to pry too much in case she wasn't a talker. So we drove around for a while and then finally, I asked if she was hungry. She said yes, and I took her to get something to eat."

"Where?"

"Just a drive-through. It wasn't anything special. I know this probably sounds awful, but she looked pretty rough around the edges, and I didn't want to take her into a restaurant like that. She must've been starving because she polished off an entire combo meal and an apple fritter by herself." Again, Brenda sighed. "And that's when it got weirder."

"What happened?"

"She seemed to come to her senses once she had some food in her. She started touching everything in the car. She was real curious. Then, when she flipped down the visor, she saw herself in the mirror, and I mean, she _freaked out_. She started trying to smooth down her hair and seemed really worked up about her appearance, saying things like, 'this isn't acceptable,' and 'no one can see me like this.' She mentioned something about Hellfire and demons . . . . It was starting to go sideways, so I tried to calm her down as best as I could. I even attempted to make a joke of it, but she wouldn't bite. About that time, we drove by Heavenly Locks, and she saw the halo on the sign out front. It seemed to grab her attention. She asked me what it was, which was kind of funny because it said what it was right there on the sign. When I told her it was a salon and mentioned that they specialized in haircuts and colors, she insisted that I let her out of the car. I felt guilty about just dropping her off there, but she was pretty adamant. And I got the feeling that if I didn't pull over, she was going to jump out of the car on her own. So I left her there and went on to the grocery store."

"Did you get a name?"

"No, but I can describe her pretty well. She had reddish hair—real curly and frizzy. Pale skin. About my height—so 5'5" or thereabouts. Oh, and she was wearing an old stained dress that looked like a potato sack."

"Thank you, Ms. Taylor. What time was it when you dropped her off?" Chloe asked.

"Around noon, I guess?"

"So you picked her up at eleven o'clock and dropped her off an hour or so later."

"Sounds right," the woman agreed. "You don't think—oh my—she wasn't the, um—"

"If you're wondering if the woman you picked up was the same person who stabbed your neighbor in the chest," Maze offered, "the answer is 'yes,' she probably was."

"Oh, Lord," Brenda said, wringing her hands. "And I had her right there in my car."

"You sure did," Maze responded, folding her arms across her chest.

"Actually, the timing does make sense. It just never occurred to me that it was all connected. And then, of course, I didn't hear about Mary until I got home and talked to the neighbors . . . ."

"Well, she can't have gotten far," Maze noted. "Not without any money."

"She had money," Brenda admitted. "I gave her a hundred bucks. It was all the cash I had. She looked like she needed it more than I did."

"Pastor Jim would be proud of you," Maze assured her in a tone that dripped with false sincerity.

"I doubt that," the woman said with a frown. "I'm really sorry. I should've known better."

"Can you think of anything else that might be helpful?" Chloe asked.

"I don't think so. I really wish I could."

Chloe nodded. "Here's my card. Call us if anything comes to mind."

* * *

"Welcome to Heavenly Locks," the lone stylist droned in a dull monotone, "where we strive to give you that Pearly Gates Experience every time you walk through our doors." Without looking away from her client's hair, she said, "Have a seat. I'll be with you when I'm done here. 'Course it's always best to make an appointment, but I might be able to squeeze you in sometime between my 2:30 and my 3:30. Hope you don't mind waiting a while . . . ."

"Friendly," Maze said. "She's like a tiny, acerbic water nymph."

Privately, Chloe acknowledged that Maze's assessment wasn't far off the mark. With a headband covered in daisies, a hemp necklace and a long, floral maxi dress, the stylist's appearance suggested a chill, earthy vibe that struck an odd contrast to her "don't bother me now" attitude.

Chloe cleared her throat. "Actually, we need to ask you some questions."

"Does it have to be right now? I'm here alone today, and I'm kinda' busy, as you can probably see."

"Well, we're _kinda'_ with the LAPD," Maze informed her, "so yes, it has to be right now. Besides, haven't you ever heard of multi-tasking?"

"Cool it, Maze," Chloe muttered, issuing a silent warning by resting a hand on Maze's forearm in much the same way she'd often done to calm Lucifer. "My friend is right, by the way. We are with the LAPD," she affirmed, flashing her badge at the mirror.

The stylist sighed and turned to look at them for the first time. "Look, is this about Carly? I already told the cops everything I know. She didn't come in until after 2am on Tuesday night, and I'm not her eff'ing mother, you know."

"Nope. It's not about Carly," Chloe told her. "We're here about an entirely different matter."

"What do you want to know?"

"Let's start with your name," Chloe suggested, taking out her notepad to write it down.

"And some manners," Maze added.

Returning her attention to the client in her chair, she said, "It's Heather. Heather Larrabee. Two r's. One b. Two e's."

"Well, Ms. Larrabee," Chloe said, "we're trying to locate a woman who was dropped off here earlier today. Auburn hair, kind of messy . . . ."

"Dressed like your basic homeless person . . . ." Maze supplied.

"You mean, Lily," Heather answered, separating a swath of the woman's hair from the rest and slicing off the dead ends with her scissors.

"Lily?" Chloe repeated, jotting down the name in her notes. "Is that her name?"

"It's the one she gave me. It's not like I checked her i.d., though, so don't hold me to it. I'm not the name police."

Like a hawk diving for prey, Maze stomped across the tile floor in the direction of Heather's station. "Listen, here, you little, Bi—"

"_Maze_," Chloe said, holding up a hand and stepping out to block Maze's trajectory across the room. Chloe just wanted to get the information and get out—preferably before someone lodged a complaint with Internal Affairs. "Look, just answer our questions, and we'll be on our way. Otherwise, you can close up shop for the afternoon, and we'll go on a nice, little excursion down to the precinct where you'll end up answering our questions anyway."

"Fine," Heather agreed, setting down the scissors and turning to face them.

"So this Lily . . . she was in here earlier this afternoon?"

"That's right. She was tragic. Total bedhead and a full-on uni-brow. She definitely needed an assist."

"So you took care of the hair and the, uh, uni-brow?" Chloe confirmed.

"I even put on a little concealer and some mascara. A woman in her forties should really start thinking about using foundation on the regular."

"And then what?"

"Well, I didn't even charge her because she was, you know, such a mess."

"So I imagine people must get pretty chatty with their stylists," Chloe prompted.

Heather rolled her eyes. "Yeah, it's like being a bartender, except without the alcohol."

"What did she talk about while you had her in the chair?"

"Nothing, really. She wasn't much of a talker. At first, she lost it a little bit when she saw what she looked like in the mirror. But mostly, she just stared at herself and watched me work. When I was done, I sent her over to a friend of mine who works in a women's clothing shop at the mall because obviously, she needed help there, too."

"So by your description . . . you'd guess that she's in her forties, with auburn hair . . . . Do you remember her eye color? Was she of average build?"

"Hmmm, let me see," Heather said, picking up her phone from the counter and scrolling through it. After a few seconds, she stopped scrolling and stared at the screen. "Green eyes—bright, like a cat's eyes. And I guess I'd say medium to small frame?"

"Wait, you have a picture of her?" Chloe asked, leaning in closer.

"Yeah, I took a few snaps of her because she looked so much better after I worked her over. I offered to text them to her, but she didn't have a phone. She didn't even seem to know what a phone was. Kind of weird, if you ask me. Who doesn't have a phone?"

Maze leaned around Chloe to look at the picture. "Ah, shit. Let's go, Decker. Did you say she went to the mall?" she asked Heather. Grabbing Chloe's elbow, she dragged her toward the door.

"Yeah, the one that's two blocks down. I sent her to my friend Kayla at Bernadette's Closet."

"Thank you," Chloe called back, fighting to maintain her balance as Maze yanked her through the door. "Maze, what is your problem?"

"I know who it is," Maze spat.

"You recognized her?"

"Yep, it's Mommy Dearest."

"Wait, your mother? The _queen_ of all the demons," Chloe confirmed, making an odd, swirly hand motion to emphasize her point.

"Not _all_ of them," Maze corrected her. "Just a few hundred."

"Well, it sounds like she's at the mall, so we should probably get over there and stop her before she hurts someone."

"She hasn't had enough time to do any real damage yet," Maze said as they began the two-block walk to the mall. "I mean, she's never had any fight training, and she left the knife behind at the scene. At this point, she'd probably qualify as more of a nuisance than anything else."

"Are you sure about that?" Chloe asked, walking faster. "There must have been a reason she was locked up in Hell."

"Eh, sometimes Lucifer's Old Man can be an alarmist. Lilith has this thing that she does with men—and sometimes women—and it got her into trouble."

"What kind of thing?"

"It's hard to explain without actually witnessing it. If we find her, you'll see for yourself soon enough."

* * *

"The victim's name was Bob the Knob, if you can believe it," Lucifer recounted, laughing quietly to himself. It had been almost a year since he and the Detective worked that case, and he still chuckled every time he recalled the victim's name.

"No way! Bob _the Knob_? You're making that up, man," Andy laughed, banging his hand against the steering wheel.

"I'm really not," Lucifer said, feeling energized by the response his story was getting. "He was a former enforcer for the mob, and his tool of choice was a bag of doorknobs."

Andy looked back over his shoulder at Lucifer. "You know, I had a feeling you were gonna' be a _cuh-razy_ fare when I saw you pop up on my phone. And if you think about it, it all makes sense. I mean, _duh_, the Moon is _finally_ in Leo, and thank goodness for that, because that Cancer Moon was a real drag, if you know what I mean. My Grandma wouldn't leave the house for an entire month. That's just messed up."

Andy took a wide turn, and his geriatric Volkswagen Golf sputtered for several precarious seconds before experiencing a renaissance of sorts, during which it surged forward unexpectedly and regained its earlier momentum. "Good boy," Andy said in soothing tones, patting the dashboard of "The Silver Chariot," as he had inaptly dubbed the disgraceful bucket of torn upholstery and rust.

Lucifer leaned back against the threadbare headrest, feeling appalled by the application of a moniker that was not only a gross mischaracterization but also an insult to the ancient Mesopotamians who invented the chariot. Never during his visits to Earth, had he ridden in such a vehicle. In fact, had he not been in a rush to locate Lilith, he most certainly would have declined the ride when it appeared curbside at the precinct.

Lucifer made a note to himself that at the conclusion of their trip, he would leave Andy a very generous tip with the stipulation that it be used to secure a suitable replacement vehicle at the earliest opportunity. After all, the young man had proven himself a worthy traveling companion during their excursion, and that alone served as a bit of a balm against the sting of having to ride around L.A. in such a contraption.

"So was it the mafia that had him killed?" Andy asked, whispering the word 'mafia' as if he thought someone might overhear him and order a hit.

"We thought so at first, but no. It turned out to be Bob's handler with Witness Protection."

"Seriously? I would've thought it was the mob for sure."

"That's what the handler wanted everyone to think. And in the hands of a lesser detective, he might not have gotten caught. But _the _Detective knew there was more to it than that. She has a knack for seeing beyond the obvious. She's very good at peeling away the layers and getting down to the true essence of a case."

"She sounds really dope, man," Andy said, nodding his head in approval.

"Yes. She's very dope," Lucifer agreed. "But I haven't even told you what was so significant about the case yet."

"Wait. Let me guess . . . Lenore was having a secret affair with Frank the Pool Boy! That's gotta' be it, right?"

"No, no. It had nothing to do with Bob or his wife. They were mere window dressing. I'm talking about what the case signified for _me_. And the Detective, of course.

"You see, this was the first case the Detective and I had worked together since she saw my Devil face, meaning that she was finally 'in the know.' Of course, she was still working through the shock of the 'big reveal,' but there were no more secrets between us—unless you count the fact that she was plotting with Father Kinley to end my existence here on Earth."

"Wait . . . she was planning to _kill_ you? Why would she do a thing like that? I thought you said she cared about you?"

"She did—she does. Or at least, I hope she still does. That was actually a bit of a one-off and very unlike the Detective. You see, she was afraid. That's all. True, her betrayal smarted quite a bit at the time because it was her and not some hapless rube, but it wasn't long before we got it all sorted. Besides, loads of people have plotted to kill me over the years. That's certainly nothing new. And I don't actually believe she would have gone through with it in the end anyway," he added, "as was evidenced by the next case that we worked together. It involved a murder on the set of a show called _The Cabin_."

"Oh man, I _love_ that show!"

"Yes, well, on that one, a building blew up while I was inside, and you should've seen the Detective's face when she thought that I'd been killed. It certainly wasn't the face of a woman who wanted me dead. As it turned out, she just needed some time to remember that even with my Devil face, there was something special between us. Things still weren't perfect for us by a long shot, but it was all a part of the process."

"You know, you're one crazy dude, Lucifer. And you say some messed up stuff, but you're funny as Hell."

"I'm afraid that's a very low bar, my friend. Hell's actually a pretty depressing place. But I appreciate the compliment nonetheless."

Again, Andy laughed. "That's what I'm talking about, man. I've only known you for about an hour, and already, you're one of the coolest people I've met in my life."

"I get that a lot," Lucifer conceded. "It's my natural charisma."

"Have you ever worked any high profile cases?"

"Well, let's see . . . there was this case involving a former pro baller whose wife was murdered. The Detective was bloody brilliant on that one. She managed to solve that case and another cold case to boot. And all of that happened with minimal involvement from me." As Lucifer stared out the window, something interesting caught his eye. "Stop the car," he announced suddenly. His voice carried just enough authority to send Andy gliding over to the curb in front of a sign topped with a neon yellow halo.

"Is it Lilith?" Andy asked, dropping her name as if she were his next door neighbor. "Did you see her?"

"No, but it could be a lead. Heavenly Locks," Lucifer read off of the sign. "Lilith was always the sort to appreciate irony. And she was also a bit of a diva. I can't imagine her emerging from the bowels of Hell without wanting to freshen up a bit. I'll be back in a jif, if you don't mind waiting."

"Sure thing, Lu. The Chariot and I will be right here awaiting your return," he said, settling back against his seat and closing his eyes.

* * *

Inside the salon, a blast of cool air welcomed Lucifer, as did the one stylist who appeared to be on duty. After eyeing Lucifer hungrily in the mirror for half a second, she spun on her heel and abandoned her client for him. Standing just beneath his eye line and much too close for a civilized encounter, she purred, "_Hi_. Welcome to Heavenly Locks, where we strive to give you that _Pearly G_ates Experience every time you walk through our _doors_."

"_Hello_. I'm Lucifer Morningstar," Lucifer cooed, taking a step backwards. The girl promptly filled the gap. "And thank you for the warm greeting," he added. "I must admit that I _feel_ very welcome here." Glancing past her at the cosmetology degree beside her station, he added, "_Heather_." Lucifer was at his most charming, which was entirely unnecessary given that his natural magnetism would draw Heather to him with little to no effort on his part. However, he'd learned that in certain situations, a bit of extra flirtation could be useful as a means of greasing the wheels and speeding along the process—rather like the bow on top of the present. Or the cherry on top of a banana split.

"How did you know my name?" she asked, ogling him from beneath a pair of synthetic eyelashes.

"Lucky guess. How could you be anything _but_ a Heather?"

At that, she giggled. "Are you here for a shave . . . or a cut?" Swallowing the saliva that had apparently been pooling in her mouth, she added, "Or both?"

"I'm afraid I'm here for neither," he responded and visibly witnessed the disappointment as it washed over her face. "But maybe next time. As unfortunate as it is, all I have time for today is information."

"Oh, well, if you have some time later on, I get off at 5 o'clock. We could get a drink . . . or something. Or we could go out on a different night, if that works better for you. My boyfriend and I are in sort of a long-distance thing, so he's not around much. We have a very _o-pen_ relationship," she said with a devious smile.

"Well, that's not exactly—wait, did you say long distance?"

"I sure did."

"Meaning that you're apart more than you're together?"

"Absolutely," she agreed eagerly. "So I'm, you know, free to do whatever I want most of the time."

"Tell me, Heather . . . . How do you make it work when you're separated by so much distance?"

"Uh, that's not really what I was trying to—"

"Do you find yourself resenting him for not being there when you need him? And I imagine it must be very hard on you to always be alone. The separation must become unbearable at times."

"Well, no. Not really. Then again, we do get to see each other almost every weekend. He's only in Riverside."

"Riverside?!" Lucifer bellowed. "That's barely an hour away! You call that long distance?"

"Sure, it is. I mean, a girl can get pre-tty lonely when she's by herself all week."

"That's preposterous. You should try being forced to dwell in a subterranean pit of gloom and doom with no hope of ever again spending an ounce of time with the woman you love. With no proper means of communication, months go by without a word from her. Left alone with only your thoughts, you begin to doubt her continued regard. You even start to lose your bearings without her there to ground you, and you feel as if the very best parts of you have been torn away and tossed in the garbage."

"Jeez. That sounds awful. Are you talking about yourself?"

"Naturally. Who else would I be talking about?" he inquired impatiently.

"Well, haven't you ever heard of a telephone?"

"Obviously, that's not an option," Lucifer barked, feeling sullen and grouchy. "Just tell me what you know about my escaped inmate." Heather drew away, and Lucifer suddenly recalled that he was trying to charm her rather than scare her. In a more beguiling tone, he said, "What I _mean_ is, if you'd be so kind as to answer a few questions, I would be _most _appreciative."

That seemed to do the trick. Like a rubber band that's been stretched and released, Heather snapped back to Lucifer's side, obviously prepared to begin singing like a canary.

"What sort of information are you looking for?" she chirped.

"I'm trying to locate a woman who may have been in here recently. And by recently, I mean sometime within the past few hours."

"It's just me in here today, so if she came in, I would know about it," she said, chewing on her bottom lip. "Can you describe her?"

"Hmmm . . . well, it's been a while since I've seen her. Very buxom, with long titian hair . . . possibly unkempt given that she's been in a cell for a few thousand years."

"I'm sorry . . . what did you say? A cell?" Heather asked with wide eyes. "For a few thousand years?"

"Good. I'm glad you're paying attention." Lucifer had been wondering if she was hearing anything he said. Too often, his natural charisma could be both a blessing and a curse. It had a tendency to obfuscate all but the simplest things he said. "This woman is a bit of a femme fatale, I'm afraid. And she goes by the name of Lilith."

"Oh, _Lily_," Heather said. "Why didn't you just tell me her name to start with? She sure is popular today."

"Someone else came in asking about her?"

"Yeah, a couple of female detectives from the LAPD. One of them was _super_ scary."

"You mean a detective and a demon," Lucifer corrected her as instantly, his interest spiked. Not only had he caught Lilith's scent, but apparently, he was on the Detective's trail, as well. It was refreshing to know that their goals were aligned.

"Did you say 'demon?'"

"Never mind," Lucifer responded, smoothly redirecting her. "Tell me more about _Lily_."

"Let's see . . . I caught her looking through the window earlier today, and I brought her in here—mostly because I was worried about her scaring away any walk-ins. Our owner, Tony, gets pretty worked up about that kind of stuff.

"Anyway, she was a total dumpster fire when she came in. Naturally, as soon as I got her in front of a mirror, she saw herself and completely freaked because, duh, who wouldn't? She kept saying that she needed to look more 'comely' and begged me to help her pull herself together. '_Comely_,'" Heather giggled. "I haven't heard anyone talk like that since . . . well, ever. Where's she from, anyway?"

"Technically, Dad raised her from the soil to be a companion to Adam."

"What?" Heather asked, looking startled, and then just as quickly, she began to laugh. Brushing her hand playfully across Lucifer's shoulder, she said, "Oh, you're _kidding_!"

"So did you help her?" Lucifer prodded.

"Sure, I did. I couldn't leave her like that. She was so sad and super fugly. But by the time she left here, she was in much better shape. Even in those rags she was wearing, she managed to turn a few heads on the sidewalk out front."

"Lilith always did like to command a room," Lucifer noted. "Do you know where she went?"

"I sent her to the mall. A friend of mine works at a store down there—Bernadette's Closet. I mean, I may have fixed up her hair and tamed those eyebrows of hers, but there's only so much you can do when someone's wearing a burlap sack."

"Thank you. You've been very helpful," Lucifer commended Heather. "Which mall?"

"Two blocks down on the right," she called after him, following him to the sidewalk when he slipped out the front door. "And don't forget about that cut and shave. I'm here on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays from 10 'til 5!"

* * *

"Bernadette's Closet . . ." Chloe muttered as she scanned the map just inside the mall entrance. "There. Second level, Number 52. Let's go."

"I wish I'd known we were chasing down Lilith," Maze groused. "I would've sharpened my knives."

"Is she really that dangerous?"

"Nah. Not until she really gets going, and she hasn't had time for that yet. Even then, the real danger of Lilith isn't always obvious. It's more subtle. Lilith is very . . . passionate."

"Passionate?" Chloe asked, sounding unimpressed. "How does that make her dangerous?"

"She's very good at getting people—especially men—to do her bidding. And her moral compass is pretty wonky, so you know, she basically does as she pleases."

"Regardless of the consequences?"

"Pretty much."

"Got it. Wonky moral compass and no fear of consequences . . . . I've got to say, though, she doesn't sound any worse than most of the criminals we bring into the station."

"At first glance, she isn't. With Lilith, there's usually a bit of an avalanche effect, though. She starts out small and harmless, but wait'll she really gets going." Maze made a slicing motion across her throat. "_Deadly_."

"So you're saying she's capable of killing a human?"

"Sure. If the mood strikes her. But that's not her main schtick."

"Right . . . ." Chloe nodded. "It's the passion."

"Just wait, Decker. You'll see. Or if we're lucky enough to round her up quickly, maybe you won't."

"Does she have any supernatural abilities?"

"Well, like I said, she can be very _persuasive_," Maze explained, adding, "mostly with men."

"What about women?"

"That depends on whether they're attracted to her."

When they reached the store, they both paused, examining the mostly-empty racks surrounded by piles of cast off garments.

"LAPD," Chloe said to a hapless sales clerk who was surveying the damage. Stepping over a pile of hoodies near the front door, Chloe showed her badge to the girl, who merely regarded her with a vague expression and a wan smile. "Are you Kayla?"

"That's me." The girl nodded, smoothing down her hair and brushing at her clothes.

"What happened here?" Chloe asked. "It looks like the store got hit by—"

"An avalanche," Maze finished.

Chloe frowned. "Auburn hair, medium build, green eyes? Apparently, very persuasive?"

"Lily," the sales girl breathed, putting a hand to her heart and grinning absently at the empty dressing room.

"So, she was here."

"Oh, yeah," Kayla giggled. "She was _definitely_ here."

"Was she hot?" Maze asked.

"Oh, God, yes," Kayla panted. "_So_ hot."

Chloe walked from rack to rack, feeling mildly befuddled by the amount of damage done to the store. Most of the inventory was ripped, trampled or stretched. Plastic hangers lay in piles throughout the store, many of them snapped into several pieces. "Why is this place such a mess?"

Kayla shrugged. "Lily said she wanted to try on everything. So I let her. I _may_ have even helped her out a little bit. Some of the buttons were hard to reach . . . ."

"Ugh. We don't need to know about that part," Maze warned her. "What happens in the dressing room, stays in the dressing room."

"So she tried on _all _of the clothes?" Chloe confirmed. "And you helped her do it?"

"Yep."

Chloe raised an eyebrow at the girl. "Because she was hot?"

"_So_ hot."

"Did she actually buy anything?" Chloe asked.

"Not a stitch. I _gave_ it all to her," Kayla explained proudly. "I was worried she wouldn't be able to carry all the bags by herself, but then a guy walked by and he agreed to do it."

"Do you know where she went?"

"The guy asked her if she wanted to grab a drink. So my guess is that they went to a bar. I wish I knew which one. Maybe I should shut down the store and try to find them."

"No, don't do that," Chloe insisted. "You should probably start cleaning up, though. That is, if you want to keep your job."

"Why? Who cares about a stupid job. I need to find Lily. I _really, really _need to find her," she whimpered.

"Hand cuffs," Maze requested, holding out a hand toward Chloe. When Chloe dropped them into her open palm, Maze locked one ring onto Kayla's hand and attached the other to an empty clothing rack.

"Maze, we can't just leave her here like this."

"Sure we can. Someone will call the cops, they'll show up to investigate and they'll unlock her. By then, she'll be lucid again."

"You mean this will all wear off?"

"Yeah. Lilith's effects are usually temporary once she's gone. Give it an hour or two, and the girl will be fine. The real issue is that we need to get to that bar and find Lilith before she moves on and causes more damage."

* * *

"Andy, I need to go to Bernadette's Closet," Lucifer told his driver. "Do you know the place?"

"Do they sell lady clothes?"

"More than likely."

"Then, nooooooooooo. I've never been there. I actually do most of my shopping down at the thrift store around the corner from my place."

"You don't say," Lucifer muttered.

"Do you know which street Bridget's Closet is on?"

"I'm afraid it's somewhere in the . . . _mall_." Lucifer cringed. He detested shopping malls. The last time he'd bought anything "off the rack" had been never. Still, it was a means to an end, and he needed to find Lilith. He might also run into the Detective there, so he supposed it wasn't the worst idea to pop down to the mall just this once and see what all the fuss was about.

Lucifer slammed the car door and tried not to wince at the sound of grinding gears as Andy manipulated the clutch. "I believe the mall is just up ahead on the right," Lucifer told him as the car rolled forward and several store fronts crawled by outside the window. A book store, a video game shop and a bar with a line of men out front waiting to get in . . . . "On second thought," he announced, "maybe we won't have to go to the mall after all. Stop the car. I know where Lilith is."

"I thought we were going to the mall."

"It looks like that may not be necessary after all," Lucifer told him as he slipped out of the car. A large sandwich board in front of the bar announced that ladies were drinking free until six o'clock. "Looks like this is the place."

* * *

"I guess you could say that I've been out of circulation for a while, and there _might_ be a few areas in which I could use a little _refresher_."

The man on the bar stool adjacent to Lilith slowly slid his palm up her thigh. "Oh, really?" he responded. "I could probably help you out with that."

"Naturally, I'm an _eager _pupil to anyone who's willing to teach me." The last statement was punctuated with a throaty laugh, and the man leaned in and whispered something in her ear. "Oh, you are, are you? Well, in return, I'd be most willing to offer appropriate compensation for your efforts. I would certainly make it worth your time."

"Gross. Enough of that. You're making me want to barf." Maze leaned over Lilith's shoulder and whispered, "Hello, Mother."

Instantly, Lilith turned away from her mark, spinning slowly on the stool as a scowl bled the width of her face. "What are you doing here, Mazikeen?"

"Just stopped in for a drink. I was thirsty." Tapping the bar, Maze got the bartender's attention. "We'll have two shots of tequila. One for me, and one for my _Mom_ over here." The bartender looked at them with obvious skepticism but wisely decided not to comment.

"What I meant was, what are you doing here on _Earth_?" Lilith clarified in an icy tone.

"At the moment, I'm looking for you. Someone has to drag your sorry ass back down to Hell."

"You came all the way up here to find little old me?"

"Not exactly. You see, I live here now." When the shots appeared in front of her, she took one of the glasses and downed it. Then, when Lilith didn't immediately claim the other one, Maze drank it, as well. "You snooze, you lose."

"Since when do you live here on Earth?"

"Since Lucifer brought me up here with him. How is it possible that your demon pool boys failed to fill you in?"

"I know it's difficult for you to believe, Mazikeen, but in the grand scheme of my existence, you're merely a tiny blip. But then, you've always been weighed down by an overinflated opinion of your own self-worth."

"The only thing weighing me down right now is an insatiable desire to shove you right back through that hole you escaped from."

"Still doing Lucifer's bidding, I see. You always were his Number One lap dog."

"That's it. Let's go," Maze said through clenched teeth, hauling Lilith up from the stool and pinning her arms behind her back.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Yes, you are. You're coming with me." Maintaining a firm grasp on Lilith's wrists with one hand, Maze flipped out a blade and pressed it against her mother's neck with the other.

"Okay, that's a knife," the bartender said, sounding surprisingly relaxed about the turn of events. "Time to call the cops. They'll be surprised to hear from us so early tonight."

"That won't be necessary," came an all-too-familiar male voice from down at the other end of the bar. "Surely, we can work this out in a way that will be mutually beneficial for us all."

As the man attached to the voice stepped out from behind several other patrons, Maze smiled wickedly at the newcomer. "Lucifer. I might've known you'd show up _after_ I did all the dirty work."

"Oh hey, Lucifer," the bartender said, pocketing his phone and picking up a rag to wash down the bar.

"Nice to see you, Tim. We'd love to have you down at Lux if you're ever interested in tending bar. The door's always open."

"I know, man. I just can't keep up with the hours down there. The party never stops."

"Yes, it does tend to be a 'sun up' to 'sun up' kind of a job," Lucifer acknowledged. "And with your mother's medical appointments, I imagine you'd require more flexibility than we can offer. Still, if you change your mind, just stop by and see me—or, um . . . . Maze, who's overseeing Lux these days?"

"That would be me," she growled. "And you should probably ask me before you go offering people jobs, seeing as I've been running the place since you took off."

"So, Lucifer, is everything okay with, uh, this?" Tim asked, eyeing Maze and Lilith from the other side of the bar.

"Everything's fine," Lucifer assured him. "I promise you that there's no legitimate threat here. You know how these Hollywood types are—always putting on a show. We'll just be on our way. You have my sincerest apologies for scaring your patrons."

"No worries, man. Hey, it was good to see you. I'll tell my Mom you said, 'hi.'"

"Let's go," Maze snarled at Lilith, shoving her toward the door.

"Maze, where's the Detective?" Lucifer asked, scanning the bar before sliding quickly through the exit door.

"Naturally, that's one of the first things out of your mouth," she grumbled as the door slammed shut behind them. "I haven't seen you for nine months and I still can't even get a 'Hello, Mazikeen. How are you?'"

"Hello, Mazikeen. How are you?" he repeated before quickly adding, "Where's the Detective?"

When she didn't immediately answer, he said, "I know she was with you. Miss Lopez told me."

"She got a call and had to leave. Nanny issues," Maze said. "I swear, kids really do know how to ruin the party. Decker missed the takedown, and we all know that's the best part."

"This Detective must be pretty special," Lilith observed. "She certainly has the two of you awfully worked up, doesn't she?"

"The Detective is none of your concern," Lucifer snapped. For a moment, his eyes flared red before fading to brown again.

Lilith clucked her tongue. "Oh, I see I've touched a nerve."

"Just shut up," Maze said, drawing the knife flush with Lilith's neck. "One more word, and I'll paint an ugly little red line across your pretty little neck."

"Maze, let's get this prehistoric trollop out of here," Lucifer suggested. "Surely, there's some dark hole where we can toss her until we're ready to deal with her."

"I figured you'd be taking Mommy Dearest back immediately. Aren't you worried about a demon uprising?"

"You know what they say, Maze . . . . When the cat's away, Amenadiel will keep watch over the degenerates. Isn't that the way the saying goes?"

"Wait a minute," Maze laughed. "You left _Amenadiel_ in charge of Hell?"

"Well, it's not as if I had an abundance of other candidates. Besides, he's done it before."

"Yeah, and he sucked at it. He was hardly ever there. If he'd been doing your job like he was supposed to, those demons never would've gotten the stones to stage a coup against you."

"I'm sure Amenadiel will be fine. In the meantime, would you be so kind as to hang onto our little jailbird for a day or so?"

"Going to see Decker, huh?"

"That all depends," he began, letting the rest of the sentence hang in the air.

"Okay, I'll bite. That all depends on what?"

"On whether she wants to see me. I may not be welcome in her life after all this time."

"Would you just get over yourself?" Maze said, gripping Lilith tighter when she squirmed. "You know she wants to see you. Stop being so dramatic."

"So you'll watch Lilith for me?"

"Hell, yeah. It's not every day that a girl gets the opportunity to torture the woman who spawned her. It's good timing, too, because I've got some new knives I've been wanting to break in."

"Then, I'll be off. I suppose I should thank you, Lilith, for being remarkably easy to catch. I hardly had to break a sweat—metaphorically speaking, of course, because I rarely sweat. I had expected you to make it more difficult for me, though."

"Please," Maze scoffed. "Difficult? She's not a demon, she has no fighting ability and her only skill is sexing up unsuspecting humans. She's a total cream puff. The only real mystery here is how we didn't catch up to her sooner."

"Thanks again, Maze," Lucifer said as he slid back into Andy's car.

With a sadistic grin, she laughed. "Nice wheels, Lucifer."

"Merely a means to an end," he explained. "Just mind that you don't misplace your dear mother."

"No problem. And hey, you and Decker take your time 'cause I've got this."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted a warning at the beginning of this chapter on the other site. I called it a T+, and I don't know how that translates on this site. It's not overly-explicit, but just be warned that there's a tiny bit more of the physical stuff going on here. I don't think it warrants an M, however.

Lucifer exited the elevator into his penthouse, feeling as if he'd been subjected to a swift kick in his unmentionables. After a wait of nearly three hours, the Detective had failed to produce herself for their reunion, a state of affairs that was utterly unacceptable, as far as Lucifer was concerned.

After leaving Maze at the bar, he'd gone directly to the Detective's house. By the time he arrived at her doorstep, he'd been positively vibrating with a 60-40 mix of anxiety and optimism. Unfortunately, a knock on her door had gone unanswered and had he not recalled the exact location of the hide-a-key, he would have been left stranded out on the porch like some pathetic, lovesick swain.

Once inside, Lucifer had merely confirmed what he'd already known to be true. No one was at home. A call to Maze had rendered only the too-casual assurance that he needed to "relax" and that "Decker would surface eventually." Maze did make a reasonable suggestion, however: the Detective had most likely taken the little munchkin out for an ice cream cone. It was a very plausible scenario, and Lucifer had chosen to cling to it while he sat on the sofa, channel surfing and awaiting the Detective's return. Sadly, when hours passed and the sun began to dip lower on the horizon, he had been forced to consider a far more upsetting possibility. The Detective, he feared, was out on a date with another man. And if that were the case, he certainly didn't want to be sitting on her sofa when she arrived home with the lucky bastard. With that in mind, he'd decided to go home and get some sleep. It seemed wisest to cut his losses and begin anew the next day, at which time he'd locate the Detective, throw himself at her mercy and urge her to dump the other fellow.

At Lux, he'd quickly dispatched with Andy, leaving him in the capable hands of the bartender, who had been given instructions to ply the faithful young man with several sleeves of hundreds from the downstairs safe. Andy had been an exemplary companion, and he certainly deserved to be well-compensated for his time. He'd even waited in the car during the extended stop at the Detective's house.

Now, as the elevator doors swished closed behind Lucifer, he dropped his jacket on the sofa and headed straight for the bar. He might have been deprived of the one thing he most desired, but he could still console his wounded spirits with alcohol that didn't taste like a tub full of dirty bathwater. After emptying and refilling his glass three times in the span of a minute, Lucifer pulled out his empty flask from his jacket pocket and replenished that, as well.

Only then did he detect a faint shuffling noise and a sharp intake of breath from just over his left shoulder. Lucifer froze, noting that the sound originated from his bedroom or someplace thereabouts. It could be a demon, he thought, or a simple petty thief. Possibly even a squatter . . . . The penthouse would have been unoccupied for some time, and it stood to reason that someone might have taken up residence there. He prayed to Dad that it wasn't some former lover hoping for an old-fashioned night of sex, drugs and more sex. He certainly didn't have the patience or interest in that sort of thing anymore. There was only one person he wanted to see in his bedroom, and she was most likely out with another man.

"Lucifer."

The soft, hesitant voice stirred the air in the room gently, and Lucifer's throat nearly collapsed on itself as he made an effort to breathe normally. This was a scene straight out of one of his dreams. In fact, during the nine months since he'd left, he had experienced _many _dreams that were quite similar to this one. Her voice was a mere tickle, but even so, it caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand at attention. It was the sound of intimacy and familiarity—an utterance that could only be made by a person who knew him from every angle and for reasons he'd never been able to fully fathom, cared about him anyway. He'd been adrift since leaving Earth nine months before, but all was put to rights instantly with the tender release of his name being spoken by that particular voice.

"_Lucifer,_" she repeated, sounding slightly more insistent this time.

Slowly, as if he were trudging through a vat of molasses, Lucifer turned toward the Detective. She stood at the top of the stairs leading to his bedroom, looking impossibly alluring in a staid black blazer, white cotton blouse and form-fitting jeans. _Like a princess_, he thought, recalling how her daughter had once made such a proclamation while standing in the exact same spot. The Detective's hair was tied back into a messy bun, which only made him think of how good it would feel to let it loose . . . to watch it pool around her shoulders . . . to weave his fingers through the silky strands. With such thoughts dominating his mind, Lucifer knew that he was in danger of unraveling right there in his living room.

"Lucifer, are you all right?" Not another second passed before the Detective descended the stairs and crossed the room to him, which was fortunate because Lucifer found that his own feet had been drilled to the floor. With concern etched on her face, her hands were everywhere in an instant, gently caressing his cheek, his jaw, his shoulders and even the tips of his fingers. He knew that she was inspecting him for tears and holes, because although he was essentially invulnerable outside of her presence, the existence of any minor blemishes would serve as clues to what might be ailing him. "Lucifer," she repeated. "Are you all right?"

Strangled by his own relief, he finally managed to choke out a simple response. "_God, yes_." His father's name had never felt more right on his lips than it did in that one moment.

She rested her palms lightly on his chest and gazed up at him with a half-smile. "Then say something," she laughed in a husky tone that reminded him of single malt scotch and Cuban cigars.

Lucifer pressed a hand to her cheek, and she leaned into it, humming softly at his touch. "How did you know I was back?" he finally asked, only half listening for her answer. He was consumed by the way that she was looking at him—with so much admiration and wonder that he thought he might drown in her adoration. A happy death that would be, he concluded.

"I called the precinct to check on a case, and Ella told me."

He would have to remember to thank Miss Lopez for her lousy secret-keeping abilities because now that he was with the Detective, he realized he couldn't have lasted another hour on Earth without having her right there in front of him.

"I figured you'd end up here eventually," she confessed. "So I took Trixie over to Dan's place and came here to wait for you."

"And I was at your house waiting for you," he explained in a voice that was quiet and tentative. For reasons unknown, he worried that he might spook her, causing her to run away. Or worse, that she was little more than an apparition poised and ready to blow away with the first strong breeze. "You really should change the location of your hide-a-key on a regular basis. Any vagabond might guess its location."

She smiled. "If I'd moved it, you wouldn't have known where to find it."

"Detective, I . . . .," he began, leaving the statement unfinished. What was it that he wanted to say to her? Everything and nothing, all at once. Just being with her again was all consuming.

"I know," she said, seeming to read his thoughts, as she so often did. "We don't have long, do we?" she asked. "You just came back to get Lilith."

With one hand still clinging to her cheek, the other crept stealthily to the nape of her neck, drawing her toward him. "Maze has agreed to watch Lilith so that we can have some time together," he whispered against her mouth.

"Remind me to thank her," she said, dusting her lips across his with the delicate, wandering strokes of an Impressionist painter in a field of wildflowers. She slipped her arms around his neck and lured him into a mesmerizing exchange that was tender, unhurried and very, very thorough. With a hunger borne from months—and before that, years—of longing, Lucifer accepted what she offered, greedily tasting her lips over and over and over again. He was desperate for more and yet also determined to savor every last sensation. They'd never been given enough time, and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to take his time with her now. Even if the rest of the world caved in around them, he _would_ have at least one night with the Detective.

The soft fullness of her lips, the light pressure of her tongue, the inviting warmth of her mouth . . . . Lucifer still couldn't convince himself that he'd earned the right to experience the kind of tenderness that she was willingly offering him. With quiet hums and delicate moans, she gently explored his mouth with a beguiling curiosity and an innocence that belied the inner strength that she possessed.

"I just have to know one thing, Detective," he murmured against her mouth, feeling breathless and light-headed, "and I want you to be honest with me." Before he could allow himself to become completely lost in her, Lucifer found that he still needed the ridiculous assurance that he wasn't mistaken in her regard. And so, he forced himself to ask her the one thing he desperately needed to know.

"No lies," she promised, smiling at him with lips that were slightly swollen and pleasantly flushed from their kiss.

"Is it still the same for you?" he asked, watching her carefully for any sign of hesitation.

"What do you mean?"

"Your feelings. After all this time, are they still the same as they were?"

She shook her head slowly back and forth as if she couldn't believe he would even ask the question. "It doesn't work that way, Lucifer. Feelings like that don't just dry up," she admonished him, lightly bumping her forehead against his. "At least not for me. This isn't just some school girl crush. If anything, my feelings for you are stronger than they were before, and I'll tell you that as many times as you need to hear it until you don't doubt anymore."

"I thought you might be mad at me for leaving."

"Lucifer, you had to go. Of course, I get that. I'm not happy about the situation, but I'm not mad at you." A thought seemed to occur to her, and with some reluctance, she asked, "Did you get my messages?"

"Yes. All nine of them."

"It was actually more like thirty-seven."

"Thirty-seven? Why are humans so unreliable?" he complained. If he had received _thirty-seven_ messages from the Detective, he might not have found cause to question her continued regard.

"Well, the system isn't flawless," she observed. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you that. Some of those people might have been going to Heaven . . . some of them might have been too far gone by the time I got to them . . . some of them might have been too horrified by the experience to remember anything . . . . And then there was . . . ." Here, she stopped, looking as if she wanted to say more but wasn't sure if she should. "There were actually a couple of months when I stopped altogether because I lost hope. I convinced myself that you'd find the distractions of Hell too great once you were back there and that you'd forget about me. I mean, I don't know how it all works, but I imagine that if you're looking for someone to satisfy your, er, desires, there would be no short supply of such things."

"No, Detective," he said immediately, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "There's no one. And there hasn't been anyone since I left you."

"No one?" she asked again, and her skepticism was obvious. Lucifer considered pointing out to her that if Hell was actually so wonderful, he probably wouldn't have made such frequent visits to Earth. That's not what she needed from him, though. "I don't want to be with anyone other than you, Chloe. And if we can't be together, then there isn't anyone else."

"It's the same for me."

"Then, let's just focus on the time we have now," he suggested. "And for my part, I'm just thankful for the nine messages I did receive and that you and I are okay."

"Lucifer, we're more than okay," she told him, trailing her fingers down his arm in search of his hand. With a nod and a bewitching smile, she tugged him toward the bedroom.

* * *

Lucifer stood at the edge of the bed with his hands in his pockets. As the Detective inched backwards up the mattress, she held out her hand as a sign that he should join her. And in that moment, he found that he was entirely unsure of what he should do, which was absolutely ridiculous because if there was anyone in all of existence who knew what was supposed to happen next, it was him. He'd had more lovers than he could recall, but with the Detective, he felt like little more than an inexperienced school boy. The Devil was truly out of his depth, and it was a novel experience for him.

As he watched her, contemplating this strange new situation in which he found himself, a hint of panic darted across the Detective's face. It was barely a flicker, but Lucifer caught it nonetheless. "What's wrong, Detective?" Sinking onto the mattress, he relaxed onto an elbow beside her, shoving aside his own concerns in his eagerness to allay hers.

"Nerves," she admitted, rolling her eyes as she often did when she felt self-conscious. "It's silly, I know. It's just that you've been around for thousands of years. And I'm, well, me, you know? How am I supposed to compete with all of that?"

It was bound to come up eventually, so Lucifer figured it was better to just address it at the outset. He needed her to know that she was special—that she was different than all who came before her. "Detective, there's no competition."

She measured his eyes, boring into him with that heavy stare that he knew so well. If she knew how those eyes could gut him with just one look, she would never doubt her power over him again. But now, as she regarded him uncertainly, he realized that she was looking for some sort of outward reassurance from him.

"There's no competition," he repeated, "and even if there were, you would win. Hands down. You're right about one thing. I have existed for thousands of years. But in all that time, you're the first and _only _woman I've ever loved."

"But how is that even possible?"

"I don't know. It just is. And you know I don't lie." Narrowing his eyes, he added, "Although I never wanted that sort of intimacy with anyone else, I find that I'm desperate to have it with you. Don't you see that?"

"I do," she confessed, toying with one of the buttons on his dress shirt. "When I look at you—when we're together—I feel it. But then rational thought kicks in, and I start having these doubts. I mean, my middle name is literally Jane—_Plain Jane_. And you're the freaking Devil—the _ruler_ of Hell. Surely, you can see why this is weird for me."

"I can," he agreed, trying not to be distracted when the button popped open and her fingers fluttered across his chest. "But Detective, you know me in a way that no one ever has, and if you could just see past your doubts, I think you of all people would understand how real this is for me."

"Okay," she sighed, dropping her gaze momentarily as she undid the next few buttons of his shirt and parted it with her hands. Leaning into him, she whispered, "Make me believe, Lucifer."

Her arms slipped inside of his shirt and with surprising fluidity, she guided it off of his shoulders. In a move that startled Lucifer, she rolled on top of him, planting her hands on either side of his shoulders as she gently pressed his back into the mattress. With a coy smile, she released her hair, allowing it to cascade around them both, and as the ends tickled his chest, he realized that in spite of her doubts and the fact that he most certainly outranked her when it came to experience, the Detective—_his_ Detective—knew exactly what she was doing.

"Detective, you're no Plain Jane," he noted, teasing her with a suggestive laugh. He stripped the sensible blazer off of her and slid his hands beneath the hem of her white cotton blouse, completely drawn in by the smooth warmth of her skin.

Emitting a lovely, sultry hum that did magical things to Lucifer's insides, she clamped her hands around his belt buckle and grinned. "Maybe not," she conceded. "But you're still the Devil."

"That I am." With that, he flipped them both over again, feeling the sudden pressure of her legs when they snaked around his hips.

As he fumbled clumsily with the Detective's shirt, registering frustration at his sudden ineptitude, she moaned, "Rip it," and he knew that if he hadn't already been lost to her, it would have happened in that very moment.

* * *

"Lucifer?" Chloe spoke into the darkness, running her hand across the depression left in his pillow. It was cool to the touch, which told her he'd been out of bed for a while. She had no idea what his nocturnal habits were; as far as she knew he might've popped downstairs to check on things at Lux.

But then the wind sent a shiver through the gauzy curtains that served as a thin barrier between balcony and bedroom, and she saw his silhouette outside. So he hadn't gone far . . . . Outside in the moonlight, he leaned casually over the railing, his silk robe tied loosely around his waist and a cigarette moving to and from his lips at lazy intervals. From the bedside table, she retrieved Lucifer's dress shirt and slipped into it, buttoning all but the last couple of buttons as she walked soundlessly from the bed to the balcony.

"Lucifer, what are you doing out here?" she asked.

As she brushed against him, he extinguished his cigarette against the railing and stood up, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "You were asleep. I didn't think you'd miss me."

With an easy smile, she leaned into him, pressing her hand against his heart through the silk robe. "Well, unfortunately for you, I'm a homicide detective. Being a light sleeper kind of comes with the territory."

"I came out here to think," he explained. The hand that was draped over her shoulder brushed back and forth across her upper arm, setting an indolent cadence that suggested a new familiarity between them.

"Because my very presence clouds your thought process," she teased him.

"Truer words were never spoken, Detective," he admitted. "You're quite the distraction. I came out here hoping for clarity."

"And did you find it?"

"Not at all. But the scenery is nice, and the air is crisp and cool—none of the ashy undertones that we have down below. And there aren't as many idle shrieks and screams in the distance. Nor are there any demons lined up with a list of issues to be sorted. L.A. may have its smog and the occasional drive-by shooting, but compared to Hell, it's a real Shangri-la."

"I wish you didn't have to go back there," she said. "It sounds awful."

"It's nothing I can't handle. I am uniquely suited to the position, as you'll recall. Although, with this latest tour of duty, I've begun to doubt my continued suitability for the role. I can't help but feel that I've lost my edge. I'm sure you're to blame for that," he said, leaning down and brushing his lips across hers.

"So what were you thinking about while you were out here trying not to be distracted by me?" she asked.

He sighed. "I was hoping to come up with some brilliant scheme to fix all of our problems."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, by your own admission, you're dissatisfied with our situation. And I can assure you that I'm thoroughly unhappy when we're apart. There has to be a way out of this for us, Detective."

"Lucifer, we've got tonight together," she said quietly. Sliding her hand inside his robe, she began rubbing slow circles on his chest. "Let's focus on that for now."

"But morning will be here soon enough. We can't turn a blind eye to it."

"Just try not to think about it. Come back inside with me," she urged him. Edging backwards, she nodded subtly toward the bedroom with her head. Behind her, the thin curtains danced back and forth across the open doorway.

"Wait," he said, grasping for her hand and pulling her back toward him. Slowly, he began unbuttoning the shirt she was wearing. _His_ shirt.

"Here?" she whispered.

"Mmhmm," he hummed into her ear as he leaned forward and dusted a trail of kisses along her jaw line. Guiding her backwards, he pressed her against one of the closed panes of glass, and she dropped her head back against the cold, hard surface as her eyes rolled back into her head.

"I'll never be able to get enough of you, Detective," he breathed against the sensitive skin of her neck and throat.

"The feeling's mutual," was the only reply she could manage as his hands drifted inside of her shirt and nudged it aside. It slid down her arms and fell to the ground, forgotten. Lucifer had a way of getting what he wanted. In the past, it had often caused friction between them, but this time, their goals were completely aligned. This time, she wanted the exact same thing that he did. And so she decided to let him have his way.

* * *

A bird was chirping outside on the balcony. Lucifer couldn't recall the last time that had happened. When it came to wildlife, city dwellers and woodland creatures alike had always managed to steer clear of him. It was as if they sensed who—or what—he was and recognized the perils of such an association. But now, it was like the sins of the past had been washed away and all was forgiven, because here was an ordinary bird out on his balcony, warbling away as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Lucifer concluded that one of two things must be happening—either the bird was the stupidest of its kind or a moratorium of some sort had been lifted. Well aware of the way such things worked, he suspected the latter. And that meant, of course, that he'd done something right for a change, prompting nature to issue a tacit stamp of approval.

Lucifer stretched, feeling relaxed and fluid, like a ball of yarn that had been tossed into the air. If he could choose only one word to describe his existence, it would be "content." He was perfectly, blissfully and euphorically content.

"_Good_ morning," he said, rolling onto his side and finding himself instantly swept up by a pair of enticing blue eyes. "How was your night?"

The Detective shrugged. He could easily see that she was trying in vain to suppress a grin. She had a terrible poker face. "Not too bad. How was yours?"

"Incredible," he admitted.

"Yeah, mine, too."

As with all things "Detective," Lucifer found that receiving her affirmation gratified him to no end. He knew how to please women. He'd never had any reason to question his talents in that area. Except when it came to her . . . . The Detective was no ordinary woman, and she certainly wasn't susceptible to his charms. As such, her reactions and her opinion of him were entirely genuine. She had chosen him of her own volition and the knowledge that he'd left her feeling happy and satisfied was the most potent sort of validation he'd ever experienced.

Naturally, because the Detective knew him so well, she also realized the importance of her good opinion, which was probably why she chose that moment to snuggle into him and whisper, "Lucifer, it was perfect." Her lips sought out his, and she kissed him with a scorching delicacy that turned his limbs to gelatin. As she skimmed her fingers across his upper back, the light, ethereal strokes soothed his inner devil in a way that no one else ever had.

Lucifer slipped his arms around her, gathering her to him and inhaling the scent of her hair.

"Huh, I never would have predicted it," she said.

"Predicted what?"

"The Devil is a cuddler."

"Only in certain, very limited, situations."

"What kind of situations?"

"This one."

"Good answer," she commended him, humming her approval as she rolled in his arms and pressed her back against his chest. In response, he tightened his arms around her so that she couldn't escape.

The mid-morning breezes caused the curtains to billow like sails on a ship, occasionally producing enough of a gust to tousle the Detective's hair. At length, she asked, "If we could go anywhere, where would you want to go?"

"Well, it might be nice to take you to Paris and show you all that I've been doing while on assignment with the CIA."

"Yeah," she laughed. "Sorry about that. Ella was relentless after you left. I had to tell her something. But I only threw her a few carrots, and her mind made up the rest."

"Well, it led to a very confusing conversation with her yesterday. But oddly enough, it wasn't the weirdest exchange we've ever had."

"I'm sure it wasn't even close," she agreed. "So is that really where you'd want to go?"

"We could certainly start there if it's what you wanted," he conceded, "but ultimately, I'd want to take you to my island. The urchin could accompany us, of course, although I'd suggest that she bring a friend to keep her company while you and I were otherwise occupied. Surely, she has one or two playmates who aren't completely nauseating."

"You have your own island?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at him.

He nodded. "I do. To be truthful, 'island' might be overselling it. It's more like a tiny tropical blip in the middle of the Pacific—the perfect size for the occasional house party or small gathering. I bought it back in the 60s when I came up from Hell for a bit of a respite. Back then, I'd host lavish weekend getaways out there. In certain circles, it was commonly referred to as the Devil's Playground. Naturally, they had no idea how close to the mark they were with that moniker."

"I'm not sure it would be the type of place to take Trixie," she laughed. "It doesn't exactly sound kid-appropriate."

"Oh no, Detective. You've got it all wrong. It's no longer the den of iniquity that it once was. The last party I hosted there was decades ago. Since then, I haven't had occasion to visit it and until you asked your question, I'd actually forgotten that it existed. The house would need some renovations, I'm sure, and it would most certainly require a good cleaning to make it habitable again. But the island itself was rather picturesque, as I recall—and certainly very desolate. It's entirely private. We'd be the only inhabitants."

"And you'd like that?" she asked, sounding surprised. "No one else around . . . just you, me and Trixie? No champagne fountains? No strobe lights? No non-stop orgies?"

"If you'd asked me that five years ago, my response would have been very different. But now, I suspect that it wouldn't be completely intolerable," he informed her. "Detective, over the millennia, I've experienced most of what the world has to offer, so to be perfectly honest, I wouldn't care where I went as long as you were there with me. I hope you believe that."

"I'm really trying to believe it, Lucifer," she said, turning her head to one side and planting a light kiss on his shoulder. "It's just going to take some time."

"So tell me, Detective," he inquired, "where would you like to go if you could go anywhere?"

"If _we_ could go anywhere," she corrected him, "it would be Italy."

"Why Italy? Wasn't that where you went to get away from me after the Big Reveal?"

"Yes, and that's precisely why I want to go back there. _With_ you, this time. When Trixie and I were there, I wasn't in a very good place. I was scared . . . and confused . . . about you, me, _us_ . . . about a lot of things. Everything is so different now. I have the clarity that I didn't have then, and I'd like to amend that chapter if I could. I can't change it, but it'd be nice to make some new memories."

"Well, I'd be happy to take you to Italy, Detective, if we ever have the time."

Her extended silence told him that he'd gone awry. He'd absolutely said the wrong thing, and he'd known it as soon as the statement left his mouth. The bubble had been burst. He'd reminded them both of his impending departure.

"How much time do we have left?" she asked.

"A little while," he assured her, nuzzling his face into her hair and drawing her closer. "Let's not let my return to Hell spoil it. Didn't you tell me last night that I should try not to think about it?"

"All right," she said. "I won't think about it." But he knew that she was.

For Lucifer's part, he predicted that he was going to be a wreck when he had to leave her. She was everything to him. If he were being perfectly honest with himself, since he'd met her, she'd gradually become the entire reason for his existence. After an eternity of considering only himself and his own needs, in a matter of years, this one perfect human somehow managed to consume him entirely.

A cloud of melancholy descended upon the two of them at the prospect of a separation later that day, and Lucifer decided in an instant that it simply would not do.

"I have an idea," he announced suddenly, sitting up and tossing his legs off the edge of the bed. "I know _exactly_ what you need, Detective."

"Lucifer, what are you talking about?" she asked, propping herself up on an elbow and eying him suspiciously.

"What you need is an omelet."

"I do?"

"Absolutely. I'm going to make you breakfast in bed. Just give me ten minutes," he requested, tossing on his robe without even tying it and bounding down the stairs through the living room. "And don't move a muscle."

As it turned out, preparing breakfast took twenty minutes instead of ten, and by the time Lucifer returned, he found her asleep. Having obviously helped herself to his closet, she was wearing a t-shirt that read: BETTER THE DEVIL YOU KNOW THAN THE DEVIL YOU DON'T. Lucifer smiled. The shirt had been a Secret Santa gift from Miss Lopez, and although he'd never intended to wear it, he found that it looked incredibly fetching on the Detective.

Her breaths were deep and even, and the hint of a smile lent a certain serenity to her countenance. She would be tired, he reasoned, after getting precious little sleep during the night. Should he allow her to sleep or would it be best to wake her up? His need to see her well-rested was at war with his desire to spend as much time with her as possible before he had to leave. Fortunately, he didn't have to make that decision because the slight impact of the tray against the mattress was enough to rouse her and with a tiny—and in Lucifer's opinion, very sexy—yawn, she sat up as he joined her on the bed.

"You're exhausted," he observed. "You should sleep."

"No, no," she sighed, fighting back another yawn. "I'll have plenty of time to sleep later." That was, of course, the exact answer Lucifer wanted to hear from her.

Scanning the tray with interest, she hummed appreciatively and said, "You _did_ make me breakfast."

"I always try to keep my promises, Detective," he reminded her, taking a sip of one of the mimosas on the tray.

"I'm aware," she said with an arch smile. "I have to admit that I _am_ hungry." As she selected a strawberry from the bowl of fruit and bit into it, Lucifer found that he couldn't look away. The Detective was actually in his bed, and they were about to have breakfast together. Her hair was pleasantly disheveled and her cheeks were aglow with a morning-after flush that he found almost irresistible. "And those omelets look amazing," she continued, unaware of the effect that she was having on him. "Did you make all of this?"

"I did," he said, glad to see that his efforts had hit the mark. In the past, he'd often had a difficult time reading her, but perhaps they were past all of that now. Relaxing on one elbow beside the tray, he tried to overlook the subtle tease of the t-shirt hem as it made a gradual ascent up the Detective's thigh. He tried not to be seduced by the tiny moans and appreciate sighs she emitted while she ate the breakfast he'd prepared for her. And he definitely wasn't trying to pay attention to the casual way she tucked one long, silky swath of hair behind her left ear.

"Lucifer, you're staring," she chided him, selecting a mini-quiche from the tray and handing it to him. "You should eat something. You're going to need your strength. We have a lot to do before you go back to Hell."

"Like what?" he demanded, preparing to throw a tantrum if she suggested that he accompany her to a crime scene. "What could you possibly have to do that can't wait until after I'm gone?"

With a knowing grin, she selected another strawberry and held it out for him. Begrudgingly, he took a bite of it, and the juices exploded in his mouth. "Well, the list isn't very long, but it will take some time," she explained. "First, when we finish eating, I think we should hang out here for a bit longer. Your bed is _very_ comfortable, and it would be a shame to abandon it prematurely."

"It's the Egyptian cotton," he said warily, already feeling mollified by the first item on her agenda.

"Then, there's the hot tub," she observed, sliding toward him. The movement caused the t-shirt hem to slide up her leg another half inch. "We can't forget about that."

Lucifer nodded. "Certainly not. An oversight such as that would be a_ grave_ injustice."

"And after the hot tub, you're going to need to shower," she pointed out as she toyed with the sleeve of his robe. "I figured I'd help you with that."

"Yes, I could see how you might be a valuable resource in the shower, Detective. Especially when it comes to those hard-to-reach places."

"So, no," she continued, cocking her head as she pretended to consider the options she'd laid out for him, "I don't think any of those things can wait until after you're gone. I need you here for all of them. And that means we have a very full agenda."

* * *

"So what happens now?" the Detective asked later that afternoon as they stood on the sidewalk in front of Lux. Absently, she fiddled with the lapels of his jacket, looking everywhere but into his eyes. But then she finally did, and Lucifer hated knowing that he was responsible for the tears she was holding back.

"I'll come back," he said, closing the tiny gap between them as he pulled her into his chest and wrapped his arms around her in a possessive way. "I can't stay, but I will come back."

"For visits?" she clarified.

"Yes. And _soon_," he promised, knowing he would never be able to last another nine months without her. "And it won't be nine months like it was before. If Amenadiel won't come down to relieve me, surely Hell can survive in my absence for a day or two here and there."

"Okay," she agreed. Nodding against him, she said, "At least it's something."

If such a thing were possible, this time was even harder than their last goodbye. This time, Lucifer knew exactly what he was leaving behind. He could already see the possibility of true happiness fading into the rear view mirror.

When his phone vibrated in his pocket, she must have felt it because she shifted and began to pull away from him. "That'll be Maze," he said in frustration, wishing he had left his phone upstairs. It's not like he was going to need it where he was going. "I'm sure she's getting impatient."

"You need to go."

"Yes. Demons don't like being ignored. They're rather like petulant children in that regard. What are you going to do after I leave?" he asked, eager to prolong his time with her in any way possible. He liked the idea of knowing her plans while he still could. Once he returned to Hell, he'd have no way of checking in on her day-to-day existence.

"Dan needs some help with a case, so I'll go over to the station and see what I can do. My head probably won't be in it, but it'll be a good distraction for me."

"And after that?"

"After that I'll probably get a pizza and go home to Trixie. What will you do?"

"My immediate plan is to return Lilith to Hell and make sure she's chained and shackled properly to prevent future escapes."

"And after that?" she asked with a small smile.

"After that, I'll go back to my penthouse and drown my sorrows in a case or two of Hell's finest whiskey."

"You have a penthouse in Hell, too?"

"I do. It's identical to the one here except that everything is in sepia. Tastes, sounds, scents . . . it's all been carefully expunged of anything that makes it pleasant. Bland is the order of the day, I'm afraid."

"That sounds terrible," she said. "But it's not what I expected."

"What did you expect? Dark caves and lava rivers?"

"Something like that."

Easing his head down to her level, he planted a kiss on her forehead. "We'll see each other soon," he assured her.

"Yeah. Soon," she echoed, resting a hand on his chest and leaning up on her toes to press a kiss to his lips. She lingered, smoothing her other palm across his cheek, and he covered it with his own hand. "Lucifer, you have to go," she reminded him, dropping back to the ground and backing away slowly.

"Always the voice of reason," he said, and his smile was bittersweet.

"I love you, Lucifer."

"And I love you, Detective."

And then he was forced to endure the unhappy experience of watching as she turned and walked away from him. He stared after her until she disappeared around a corner two blocks away, feeling as if his heart was in a vise.

Lucifer's phone vibrated again. As he retrieved it from his pocket, he glanced at the screen and saw that it was Maze. Again. Demons could be so impatient. "Hello, Maze," he answered. "What's so important that it warrants interrupting my time with the Detective?"

"Lucifer, I've been calling for hours," she growled. "Why weren't you answering?"

"You know exactly why I wasn't answering. Fortunately for you, you now have my unwilling attention."

"Fortunately for_ you_, I didn't come over there and break up the party, although I was tempted. It's not every demon who knows how to exercise restraint."

"Yes, well, you've always been rather gifted, Maze," he said, deciding that a compliment might ease her rancor. "So tell me, what's the big emergency?"

"It's Lilith. She's escaped."


	7. Chapter 7

Maze flung open Linda's front door as Lucifer approached the house. "Where have you been?" she yelled.

"You know exactly where I've been," he answered, breezing past her into the foyer with barely a sideways glance. "As I explained on the phone, the Detective and I were unavailable."

"Lucifer, I called you at least ten times," she persisted, refusing to be dismissed as she darted after him into the kitchen. "You couldn't answer even _one_ of my calls?"

"After nine months apart, the Detective and I were making the most of our very limited time together. Nothing was more important than that. If an army of angels came to Earth and staged a flash mob, I could not have cared less about it."

"Is that so? Well, while you and Decker were _making the most_ of your time together, Lilith escaped."

"So you said. Did you or did you not tell me that you _had_ this, Maze?" he ground out. "Because as I recall, those were the last words out of your mouth when I left you yesterday."

"Look, I don't know how it happened," she said, throwing up her arms. "I hog-tied her and threw her in the basement. Zip ties on the wrists and ankles . . . duct tape over the mouth . . . chained to a water pipe . . . . You know, the usual. Somehow, she still managed to get out. When I went down to check on her a few hours ago, the pipe had been sawed through, and she was gone."

"Well, she can't have acted alone," Lucifer observed, rummaging through Linda's cabinets until he located a juice glass. Setting it on the counter with a decisive thud, he began filling it from his flask. "She must have had an accomplice."

"Who would've helped her? She just escaped from Hell. She doesn't know anyone on Earth."

"It's Lilith. Don't underestimate the strength of her appeal. It was probably that man she targeted at the bar yesterday."

Maze shook her head. "That doesn't make any sense. How would he have known where to find her?"

"It's actually quite simple, Mazikeen. He followed you, and when your back was turned, he broke in and liberated Lilith from the basement."

Maze snorted. "Followed me? No one follows me—unless I want them to. Do you think I'm some amateur?"

"Well, you did bring her here to Linda's house, which demonstrates questionable judgment. Surely you recall that Lilith is the matriarch of an entire demon race _and_ that she hates infants."

"Hey, this is where I live. Where else was I supposed to take her? Besides, I didn't think it would be an issue because Charlie isn't even here. Linda took him to her sister's place last night."

Lucifer replenished his glass and immediately tipped it back, draining the contents in one swig and pouring himself another round. "So where do we start? All you're able to tell me is that she somehow escaped and that no one assisted her."

"I didn't say no one helped her," Maze pointed out as she forged an angry trail back and forth across the kitchen. "I just said that I wasn't followed home from the bar by one of her marks. She probably killed some human schmuck before we got to her and summoned a demon in his place. And the demon tracked her to Linda's basement." Smashing her fist against one of the countertops, she snarled. "Lilith is such a _bitch_."

"_Bloody Hell_," Lucifer declared as he suffered through the dawning realization that Maze's assessment was probably correct. "What good does it do to leave Amenadiel in charge if he's asleep at the wheel? I reminded him of the need for vigilance, and still, a demon manages to escape on his watch."

"You do realize that she might've summoned more than one, don't you?"

"Yes, I realize that, Maze," he responded, seething with the knowledge that he was facing the possibility of yet another insurrection. "It's not like Lilith to do anything in moderation. If she has one lackey, she has five."

"They were probably in the crowd at the bar yesterday and they tracked her here to Linda's place," Maze concluded. Removing a long blade from a hidden sheath in her leather pants, she ran a finger along the sharp edge and nodded her approval. As she slipped it back into its pouch, she proceeded to remove four more such weapons from various slits and pouches on her person, inspecting each of them in turn. "Those demons are just lucky they didn't run into me while they were here because I would've ended them."

"That was by design, I'm sure. If Lilith managed to summon a pack of demons within hours of her arrival, she likely accepted anything that was available. She certainly wouldn't have acquired the pick of the litter. They'd be no match for a seasoned demon like yourself, and they'd know that."

Tossing a knife in the air, she caught it neatly by the handle and drove it into the wall. "Which is why we need to smoke her out before she has time to build up a more formidable army. A twelve to one ratio is my sweet spot. Anything more than that, and things could get dicey."

"Well, luckily for us, I liberated my car from storage before coming over here, so put away the knives and let's get going," he said, becoming impatient. "A handful of former humans and an immortal strumpet aren't going to find themselves."

* * *

"Heyyyyy," Ella greeted Chloe, looking up from her table as Chloe entered the lab. "Nice outfit. It looks even better today than it did yesterday." Grinning, she added, "_So_, how did it go with you and Lucifer? As if I even need to ask . . . ."

Chloe sighed, sliding onto a stool across from Ella. "It was really, _really_ good. Exactly what we both needed."

"That's great! I'm _so_ happy for you guys." She looked at Chloe expectantly for several seconds and when no additional details were forthcoming, she said, "Well . . . did he live up to all the hype?"

"Ella, I'm not going to answer that." Straightening her posture, Chloe smoothed some non-existent wrinkles from the front of her blazer and ordered herself not to smile.

"Come on. You've gotta' give me something, Decker. You're blushing, so I know it must've been good."

"Okay. The answer to your question is 'yes.' He lived up to the hype," she confirmed, rolling her eyes as an embarrassed smile betrayed her. "But that's all you get."

"I'll take it," Ella responded. "My mind can fill in the details. And besides, I'll get the rest of the story out of Lucifer when he comes in. Where is he, anyway? I expected you two crazy kids to be joined at the hip now that he's back."

Chloe ran her hands along the sides of her hair, making a show of capturing a few imaginary flyaways. This was why Lucifer didn't lie. It was too exhausting—and confusing. "He couldn't stay, um . . . he had to get back."

"Already? Sheesh, the Feds really don't let up, do they? That must be _some_ assignment."

Chloe nodded. "Yeah, it's pretty important."

"Well, did he find his friend? Word is that they haven't had any movement on that stabbing case downstairs, and he thought she might be involved."

Chloe shifted uncomfortably on the stool. "I think he found her . . . I'm not exactly sure how it all played out, though. We didn't really talk about work very much."

"Did you and Maze come up with anything yesterday?"

"Nothing that would be useful to the LAPD," Chloe told her. The entire situation was too complicated. Although the case had been "solved" and the assailant apprehended, for the LAPD's purposes, there would never be any closure. Eventually, it would become a cold case, and the Department would forget about it. "I've decided to leave it in the capable hands of the guys downstairs. I'm actually here about another case. Dan called earlier and said we've got a new homicide, and I thought I'd give him a hand with it."

"Yeah, he and I were out at the scene this morning. I'm sure he'll fill you in when he finishes putting the moves on his new_ la-dy_ friend."

Chloe spun on her stool and looked out into the precinct. Dan was leaning back against his desk with his legs crossed casually at the ankles, and he was smiling down at a woman seated in his chair. "Yeah, I saw her over there when I came in. Who is she?"

"I don't know, but he gave her his chair," Ella hissed, sidling up to Chloe as together, they watched Dan through the window.

"So? What's the big deal about that?"

"The big deal is that he has a perfectly acceptable guest chair right beside his desk, but he decided to give her _his_ chair. I'm telling you, our boy is definitely buying whatever she's selling."

"I guess I see your point," Chloe acknowledged. If the expression on Dan's face was any indication, he was definitely interested in the woman. And then there was the grin. Chloe knew that grin all too well. Back in the day, she'd seen it often enough. Dan was flirting. "So what's her story?" Chloe asked. "Where did she come from?"

Ella shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. I just looked up from my report a few minutes ago and she was out there. Maybe she's a witness in one of his cases."

"He's always had a thing for redheads," Chloe conceded, remembering a few ex-girlfriend photos she'd once found in a box. "I wonder what's up with her friends. Kind of a random selection, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Ella agreed. Nodding toward four stragglers who were hanging back watching Dan and the woman from a distance, she said, "You've got 'guy in a dumpy, grey suit,' some crazy-haired lady in head-to-toe Lululemon, an Applebee's waiter and 'Ma Kettle.' It's quite the entourage. I hate to judge, but I mean, let's be honest. Dan's friend doesn't really look like she belongs with any of them."

Chloe tilted her head sideways, examining the woman from behind. "Yeah, pencil skirt with a twelve inch slit, a translucent white silk blouse and a pair of Louboutins. She's definitely got a bit of a Cruella De Vil thing going on."

"Eh, I'm thinking it's more like a sexy lawyer vibe." Looking stricken, she said, "Oh no, do you think she reminds him of Charlotte?"

In response to something Dan said, the woman treated him to a burst of laughter that rang out through the precinct, drawing the interest of two other detectives seated nearby. One of them—Janet—quickly returned to the report she'd been reviewing, but the other one—Wes—rolled his chair across the open space to Dan's desk.

Abandoning her stool, Chloe walked to the open door, where she could hear more of what was being said. As she watched the three of them, she sensed that something was "off" about the exchange. She just couldn't quite define what it was.

"Who's your friend?" Wes asked, and although the question was technically aimed at Dan, Wes was clearly phishing for the woman's attention.

"Hey man, this doesn't concern you," Dan grumbled. "Don't you have work to do over at your _own_ desk? We were talking."

"Oh, _talking_," Wes responded, shaking his head at Dan. "That sounds riveting. Maybe the lady would be interested in a tour of the station. I'd be more than happy to take you," he offered, addressing the woman.

"Watch yourself," Dan warned Wes, standing up to his full height and nudging Wes' chair away with his foot.

Wes stood up, casting aside the chair, and marched back over to Dan. "What's your problem, Espinoza?" he demanded.

"Boys, boys, boys," the woman laughed, and it was a full-bodied, voluptuous sound that appeared to arrest the attention of both men, leaving them panting. "I can assure you that there's more than enough of me to go around," she cooed. "In fact, I can be so much of a handful that my partners often prefer to share the load."

The woman uncrossed and re-crossed her legs in a maneuver that seemed to captivate both men. Swinging the chair to the left, she positioned herself between them, and in so doing, Chloe was able to get a glimpse of her face.

Recalling the photo she'd seen at the salon, Chloe muttered, "No. It can't be her . . . ."

"Can't be who?" Ella asked.

"Lilith." By the time the thought took root, Chloe's feet were already in motion. As she approached the trio, Lilith's eyes locked onto hers, and a pair of blood-red lips curved into a knowing smile. With a deftness borne of necessity, Chloe slid herself between the two men, pressing a hand to each of their chests and forcing them backwards.

"Well, it appears we have a new friend," Lilith remarked, raising an eyebrow at Chloe. "I must say, you're lovely. And although our little party is becoming crowded, I'm sure we could make room for one more. What do you say, boys?"

"Have we met? You look familiar," Chloe said, hoping to tease out information. It couldn't be a coincidence that Lilith was there. And why wasn't she with Maze and Lucifer? When Chloe had left Lucifer, he'd been planning to retrieve Lilith and return to Hell. Now, Lilith was at the precinct. So what did that mean for Lucifer and Maze?

"No, I'm afraid we haven't had the pleasure," Lilith said. "Although I'm most desirous of making your acquaintance. Detective Espinoza, would you be so kind as to handle the introductions?"

"Lily, this is Detective Chloe Decker," Dan responded as instructed, looking mildly confused but compliant. "Chloe, this is Lily. Lily came into the precinct to talk about a—why did you say you were here, again?"

"I didn't give a reason," Lilith told him, redirecting her attention to Chloe. "Detective Decker, I'm under the impression that we have some friends in common."

Chloe narrowed her eyes. "Friends? Are you really sure that's the best way to characterize the association?"

"Well, we certainly go way back," Lilith said. "But perhaps you're right. They may not consider me to be friends, although I certainly harbor no ill will toward them. I shudder to think of what they must have told you about me. Without knowing the exact details, I can already assure you that most of it has been grossly exaggerated."

"I doubt that very much."

"Well, you're obviously biased," Lilith concluded. "In time, you may change your mind about me . . . or not. In actuality, it matters very little what you think of me because your good opinion is completely inconsequential. But I did come here today hoping to speak to you."

Chloe clasped her hands in front of her, waiting impatiently for what was to come.

"You see, I recently witnessed a crime," Lilith explained. "It was actually quite alarming. A poor, old woman was napping in a chair on her porch when out of nowhere, a much younger—and certainly more attractive—woman appeared with a knife. The knife bearer stabbed the old woman viciously in the chest, and I do believe she might've killed the poor creature instantly had her aim been better. In fact, it seems entirely plausible that the much younger woman might have retrieved the knife and plunged it into the heart again had not a vicious Hell Beast begun howling nearby."

"Um, did you say a Hell Beast?" Wes asked, eyeing Lilith uncertainly.

"Of course, it was a Hell Beast," Lilith countered. "What else could it have been?"

"She means a dog," Chloe clarified before the conversation could dissolve into more of a disaster than it already was. "Lily, this all sounds very interesting. Why don't you and I go into the conference room? We can talk privately, and I'm sure you'd be more comfortable there."

"I'd like that very much," Lilith agreed. "My friends can wait out here," she said, standing up and straightening her skirt as she nodded toward the raggedy bunch of associates standing nearby.

"But Chloe isn't even working that case," Dan interjected. "If you want, I can take you downstairs—"

"I'd prefer to speak to Detective Decker," Lilith insisted, silencing Dan with a dismissive glare. "As for you, Detective Espinoza, I'm sure we'll be seeing each other again soon."

Chloe pointed Lilith toward the conference room and fell into step behind her. "Stay away from Dan," Chloe said, leaning forward and whispering into Lilith's ear as they walked.

"Why would I do that?" Lilith laughed. "He'd make such a nice, little plaything for me."

Having previously retrieved her phone from her back pocket, Chloe had been waiting for an opportunity to use it. So as she trailed behind Lilith, she quickly sent a text to Maze and Lucifer, letting them know that their escapee was at the station. Of course, if Lilith had harmed them in some way, the text would be futile. But Chloe refused to think that way, forcing herself to believe that Lilith had simply evaded them. And if that were the case, with any luck, Chloe would be able to hold onto her until they arrived.

* * *

"Where's Lucifer?" Chloe asked. As the conference room doors slammed shut behind them, it was her first and only thought.

Lilith tossed her head to the side. "How should I know? He left me with his little pet Mazikeen sometime yesterday, and I haven't seen him since."

"Why should I believe you?" Chloe persisted.

"Because I have no reason to lie to you. If I'd done something to harm your precious Lucifer, I can assure you I'd be the first person to crow about it. I'd want you to know every single, juicy detail."

Feeling relieved, Chloe asked the next most logical question. "Then why aren't you with Maze?"

"Because I _escaped_," Lilith explained. "I would have thought it was rather obvious." Spinning on one spiked heel, she surveyed the room. Like a vulture assessing its prey, she slowly began circling the conference room table. "You know . . . I can see why he's so taken with you. You're beautiful. And you have a mysterious innocence about you that is _very _alluring. I'd love to explore what's beneath that buttoned-up, self-righteous outer layer of yours. I suspect that you're a bit of a dichotomy, Detective Decker. Or Chloe? Should I call you Chloe?"

"I'd rather you not call me anything. And don't bother trying to charm me, Lilith," Chloe said. "I'm not interested."

"That's a shame. It would have made for an interesting . . . wrinkle. It really doesn't matter, though, because your disinclination toward me won't impact my plans in the slightest. But still, it is a bit of a missed opportunity."

"You do realize that Lucifer will be looking for you," Chloe pointed out, ignoring Lilith's insinuations as best she could.

"Yes, I know," Lilith agreed in a bored tone. "To return me to Hell, where apparently, I belong."

"Exactly."

"Well, you see, I've decided not to return. Hell doesn't really suit me. I've always been more partial to Earth, which is why I've decided to stay here."

"You don't get to make that decision."

"Actually, it seems that I do." As she passed a small corner table, Lilith picked up a couple of matchbox cars that the detectives often used to recreate crime scenes. "Does your police department spend much of its time playing with children's toys, Detective Decker?" she asked with a smirk.

"Lucifer will make you go back," Chloe told her.

"Not if he's unable to do so," Lilith countered, casting aside the cars and beginning her circuit around the room once again. "And I have reason to believe that you'll be of some assistance in that capacity."

"I can't imagine why you'd ever think that."

"Can't you?" Lilith asked, arching one freshly-waxed eyebrow at Chloe. "I know all about you, Chloe Decker. And I _know_ what you can do to Lucifer."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Chloe insisted, batting away a sudden surge of panic that sprang from the implication that somehow Lilith knew about Lucifer's vulnerability.

"Ah, but you do. I'm sure of it," Lilith responded with a chilling certainty in her voice. "You see, my time in Hell was long, boring and occasionally painful, although it was certainly nothing I couldn't handle. I occupied the same cell for most of my time there, and let me assure you that it's not an exaggeration when I say that it was a truly dreadful place."

"I fail to see how this relates to Lucifer and me."

"You'll understand in a minute. Just be patient," Lilith assured her. "Now, there was a very thick wall separating my cell from the adjacent cell, and at some point during the past thousand years or so, it occurred to me to try and introduce myself to my neighbors. I must tell you that this was a very ambitious notion, given that most of my days and nights were filled with unimaginable horrors, and I only had a free moment every so often to devote to the effort. And had I been found out, I'd have faced the heaviest of penalties—possibly even extinction. Fortunately, I've never been one to shy away from a bit of a risk—which you'd know if you were better acquainted with me. So I decided to give it a go in spite of the potential for consequences.

"Ever so slowly, I began boring a hole through the wall. It started with one scratch. Then, another and another until eventually, I clawed my way through the wall. I was able to create an orifice just large enough to allow me to see into the next cell. In truth, its circumference was no bigger than a small green snake, but it was good enough. And do you know what I saw on the other side of the wall?"

"I couldn't begin to speculate," Chloe answered, content to let Lilith ramble if it meant that Lucifer and Maze had time to reach the precinct before Lilith and her demon friends moved on.

"An empty cell," Lilith laughed, but far from a jovial laugh, it had a sinister, maniacal edge to it. "That was quite the disappointment, I must admit. All of my time and effort had simply been wasted . . . or so I thought at the time. Eventually, though, it all took a turn and things turned out very well for me. Would you like to guess what happened next?"

"Someone moved into the adjacent cell?" Chloe asked, glancing out into the precinct for a sign that Lucifer or Maze had arrived.

"That's exactly right," Lilith commended her. "Fortunately, in time, a new neighbor occupied the cell, and gradually, we became well-acquainted. It was just as I had hoped it would be. I learned that he was tenacious and strong—a demon but also a warrior. He'd been jailed as punishment for inciting an insurrection against Lucifer. This was all a gross injustice, of course. For he had actually been one of several guilty parties, but the weight of the entire offense fell upon him. Do you know what his name was?"

Chloe shook her head, although she suspected that she did, in fact, know the answer to Lilith's question.

"It was Dromos."

At the mention of the demon's name, Chloe froze. She was fighting a losing battle. Lilith knew everything.

"That's right. I can see that you're starting to catch on. You're very quick, Detective Decker. Dromos was a good companion during my darkest days and nights. In fact, if I could've summoned him to Earth, I would've done exactly that, but when bringing a demon across the void, one can hardly be choosy. In between visits from our torturors, Dromos and I would have the occasional conversation and at length, he revealed an interesting piece of information to me. I set it aside in my mind, knowing that it would be useful to me someday. Do you know what he told me?" she asked, and her eyes twinkled with anticipation.

"Why would you listen to the ramblings of a disgraced demon like Dromos?" Chloe remarked. "His own sad attempt to escape to Earth was an embarrassing disaster for him and all the other demons who allied with him against Lucifer."

"We both know he was speaking the truth," Lilith snapped suddenly. "And what he told me was that Lucifer becomes vulnerable when he's with you—that he can be brought down simply because you're nearby. Isn't that interesting?"

"Not particularly. It sounds pretty far-fetched to me."

"You're a terrible liar, Chloe Decker. And even if you won't acknowledge the truth, we both know that I'm right. You make Lucifer weak. And that's why you're coming with me."

"Why would I do that?" Chloe scoffed.

"Excellent question," Lilith said. "You'll come with me because we're in the middle of a police station filled with your friends and acquaintances . . . people you care about. Unsuspecting _good_ people who don't deserve to die harsh, painful deaths. I feel sorry for them, actually. There's that overly chatty brunette . . . the handsome Detective Espinoza . . . the young man in the desk adjacent to yours with far too many photos of his wife and young children. And, of course, there are countless others within range, but at the moment, I'd like you to pay attention to those three individuals that I just mentioned.

"And if you look closely, you'll see that my associates are nearby with a weapon poised to strike at each of them. Let me show you," she offered, pointing out into the precinct with one ruby-colored fingernail. "See, there's one of my people there, there and . . . oh, yes, right over there. That one's not where he's supposed to be, I see. He gets distracted easily. I'll need to replace him when I find the time," she said, indicating the Applebee's waiter.

What she'd said was true, Chloe saw with a mounting sense of desperation. The accomplice whom Ella had dubbed "Ma Kettle" stood near Dan, chatting with him. Her hand was conspicuously concealed inside one of the pockets of a lumpy, threadbare sweater. Lululemon had strategically positioned herself near Ella and was leaning over her looking at something on the laptop. In her hand, she held a tiny backpack, which could conceivably contain a weapon. The same was true of Jake, the detective in the desk adjacent to Chloe's.

"And now you see," Lilith said. "One wrong move from you, and I'll signal my demon friends. In an instant, they'll send your friends to Hell . . . or Heaven. It's difficult to know which way they'll go, but they definitely won't be staying here."

"So they are demons," Chloe muttered. She had suspected as much but hadn't been sure. It certainly explained why such an eclectic mix would be following Lilith around. "How did they get here?"

Lilith shrugged. "The usual way. They claimed a recently-deceased body."

"But Lucifer outlawed that."

"Oh, well, if Lucifer says it's not okay, then I guess we can't do it," she whispered, shivering dramatically and then breaking into a mad cackle.

"And you just happened upon a handful of recently-deceased humans?"

"I may have helped the process along a bit," Lilith admitted. "Although I must own that it's not my finest work. It was incredibly sloppy, if we're being honest, but I knew Lucifer would be coming for me. I had to act fast. So I located a few tools at the store where I got the clothes, and I immediately began my recruitment efforts. Within a half hour, I managed to bring over four demons from Hell. And to think, it all started with an obliging pair of scissors from a desk drawer in that store."

"You killed four people?" Chloe demanded. "With a pair of scissors?"

"That astonishes you?" Lilith laughed. "I can assure you that four is a mere sampling of what I plan to do. Had Mazikeen not intercepted me when she did, I would've stockpiled more than four. And now that my new friends have helped me to regain my freedom, I can begin again.

"So now," Lilith said, walking over to the door and opening it wide for Chloe, "you and I are going to pass through the station without so much as a sound or a warning. You'll tell anyone who asks that you're going with me to visit the scene of that stabbing. We'll all walk out of here together and get into the black van that's waiting for us in front of the building, and that will be that."

"Lucifer will find me," Chloe warned Lilith.

"Hmmm . . . We'll see."

"All right, Lilith. I'll go with you," Chloe agreed, briefly touching her gun to make sure it was ready to fire as soon as her friends were in the clear. The cool metal felt comforting beneath her fingertips. If she could create an opportunity, she hoped she'd be able to stop them from abducting her.

"How good of you. Your willing participation certainly isn't necessary, but it does make things less messy. I'm sure you understand my meaning." Lilith waited as Chloe preceded her out into the precinct. Chloe considered alerting Dan, Ella or anyone else who was nearby, but she decided it wasn't worth the risk to their safety. Lilith had killed four people with a pair of scissors, showing herself to be erratic and unpredictable—not to mention, unhinged and deranged.

Their exit transpired exactly as Lilith had described. Dan asked where they were going, and Chloe responded just as Lilith had instructed her to respond. The demons all remained in position as Chloe and Lilith walked up the stairs and out of the station. Only when they reached the sidewalk out front did Lilith's three accomplices join them. At almost the same time, a black van driven by the fourth skidded along the road and bumped up against the curb, coming to a shrieking halt.

Secure in the knowledge that the demons were no longer near her friends and everyone inside the building was safe, Chloe slowly reached for her gun, preparing to remove it from its holster without drawing attention to herself. She could still gain the upper hand. She knew she could.

But then Lilith's head twitched, and she clucked, "Uh, uh, uh, Detective Decker." Snapping her fingers, she barked, "Severus! Take care of her before she ruins everything!"

On Lilith's command, a hard object—perhaps a baseball bat or a nightstick—hammered into the back of Chloe's skull, and the force of the blow sent her staggering forward. The pain that followed was acute and punishing, fanning out with the ferocity of an erupting volcano. There was a fleeting second of awareness in which Chloe knew that she was going to fall, and then, as if a curtain had suddenly lowered across her consciousness, there was nothing.


	8. Chapter 8

Lucifer descended the precinct stairs at an uncharacteristically inelegant rate of speed. With a singular purpose driving his every movement, he hardly cared how he reached his destination. The only thing that mattered was reaching the Detective before Lilith harmed her. "Daniel, where is she?" he demanded. With one hand, he spun Dan's chair so that they were facing each other.

Dan scowled, gripping the arm rests in a show of forbearance. "Lucifer, you can't just come in here like a bat out of Hell and start demanding things."

"Don't be ridiculous. There are no bats in Hell. They could never abide the climate."

"Would you just shut up, man?" Dan groaned. "The point is that you don't work here anymore."

"Just tell us where Lilith is," Maze said, joining them at Dan's desk.

Lucifer cast a scornful glance in her direction. "Nice of you to join us, Maze. Has it escaped your notice that we have a bit of a crisis on our hands?"

"Hey, someone had to turn off the car and take the keys out of the ignition after you jumped out and sprinted away," she grumbled. "Decker's in trouble, and suddenly you turn into the Flash . . . . You could've at least held the elevator for me, you know."

"Why would I do that when it was clear that you lacked the motivation to move at anything above a snail's pace?" Lucifer asked. By that point, impatience was driving his every action, and he simply had no tolerance for a demon whose stride was sluggish, at best. "It was imperative that I reach the Detective before Lilith had the opportunity to exact harm upon her. Time was of the essence."

"Who's Lilith?" Dan asked. "And why is she trying to hurt Chloe?"

"We know she's here, Dan. Don't play dumb," Maze told him, holding up her phone so that Dan could see the screen. "Chloe sent this text."

"'L oz hete ay starion,'" he read. "Is that English?"

"_Of course_, it's English. Did you think it was Lilim?"

"What's Lilim?"

"Never mind," Maze said, looking disgusted. "It clearly says, 'Lilith is here at station.'"

Dan scratched his head, leaning toward the phone to inspect the text again. "It does?"

"Look, is Lilith here or not?" Maze repeated, snatching away the phone and sliding it into her back pocket.

"And where's the Detective?" Lucifer added. He had been mildly concerned when they couldn't lay an immediate finger on Lilith, but since receiving the Detective's text and learning that Lilith was at the precinct, the level of disquietude in his mind had reached a deafening level.

Dan stared blankly at them for a second too long, and Lucifer decided that it was time to move on to someone else. "Come on, Maze," he snapped. "Clearly Detective Douche is as useless as a monkey in a think tank."

"Wait," Dan said suddenly. "Are you talking about Lily?"

"_Yes_," Lucifer and Maze responded in unison.

"She's gone. She left with Chloe about twenty minutes ago."

Dan's words were the kindling that stoked the fire within Lucifer. Like a wildfire in a dry forest, the inferno intensified so quickly that Lucifer could hardly maintain his outward composure. His Devil face begged to be released, and it was only by exerting a considerable effort that he managed to keep it concealed. "Damn L.A. traffic," he yelled, kicking the side of Dan's desk with enough force to bend the metal. "Maze, I told you we weren't going to make it in time."

"In time for what?" Dan asked, standing up from his chair.

"Why would you let Lilith leave?" Lucifer shouted, drawing several stares from around the precinct. He was balanced on a very thin tight rope, and the wire was rapidly beginning to fray beneath him. "Better yet, why would you let her leave with _the Detective_?"

"Relax, man. They just went to check out a crime scene. Lily said she had some information about that stabbing on Bluebird yesterday. They'll be back."

"Okay, okay," Maze said, spinning around to face Lucifer and pressing her hands against his chest to steady him. "I know you're freaking out right now, but we don't know that Lilith actually took Chloe."

"Of course, she took her. They left together. It's the only reasonable conclusion to be drawn, Maze."

"So you don't think they went to check out that crime scene?" Dan asked slowly.

"Would you try and keep up, Daniel?" Lucifer barked. "_No_, they didn't go to any crime scene. Lilith has absconded with the Detective, which means the Detective is in very grave danger."

"He's right," Maze affirmed. "I know it sounds crazy, but Lilith is no kitten, and if she went to the trouble of kidnapping Chloe, it's definitely not a good thing."

"How do you know that?" Dan insisted.

"Because . . ." Lucifer began, floundering as he considered the myriad places they could be, "because I just _know_ things."

Dan shook his head. "That's not good enough, man. Not this time."

"Very well, then," Lucifer said, and it was in that exact moment that the tight rope snapped. "It's because Lily is actually Lilith, the woman who gave birth to an entire race of demons—a race that includes Maze. Lilith's behavior on Earth was so bad, that Dad sent her to Hell, where she's been rotting in a cell ever since. That is, she _was_ rotting in a cell until the other day, when she apparently slipped through a tear in the fabric separating Hell and Earth and showed up in Los Angeles."

"Ha ha. Very funny," Dan said, sounding weary. "This whole Devil shtick of yours is really getting old."

"I'm telling you, Daniel, the Detective is in danger. We have to find them."

"I'm calling Chloe," Dan announced, picking up his phone from the desk and scrolling to the Detective's number. "She'll answer, and then you can both apologize to me for overreacting."

"Sure, let's give Chloe a call. _Great_ idea," Maze praised him, but her voice was laced with obvious insincerity. "I'm _sure_ she'll answer." Taking Lucifer aside, she whispered, "You need to show Dan your real face."

"Maze, it's not my real face anymore. It's just my _other_ face."

"Well, whatever it is, you need to show it to him."

"Absolutely not. It's out of the question," he insisted, astonished that she would even make the suggestion. "The last time I showed my Devil Face to a living human, it was the Detective, and we know how that turned out."

"It turned out pretty great, actually," she reminded him.

"But before that, it was terrible. I'm not going to show him. I nearly broke the Detective, and _she_ actually cares for me."

Dan ended his call to the Detective. Staring at his phone in apparent confusion, he said, "That's weird. It went to voicemail. It's not like her to miss a call when she's on duty, but she could be busy taking a statement. I'll have dispatch page her."

Lucifer smacked the top of Dan's desk with the palm of his hand. "Yes, by all means. Let's waste even more time making calls that no one is going to answer."

Another span of time was squandered as Dan placed a call to Dispatch and waited while the Detective was paged. A minute later, the Dispatcher must have returned to the line because Dan asked, "Well, did you try paging her cruiser? Okay, okay," he sighed. "And her car's where?" In another second, his frown lines deepened. Ending the call, he explained, "Chloe's not answering, and her car's in the garage. It's strange."

"No," Lucifer corrected him, drowning in impatience. "It's not strange at all. Given that she's been _kidnapped_, it makes perfect sense."

Dan threw out his hands. "All right. Fine. Putting aside all of that stuff you mentioned about demons, let's just say that I'm open to the idea that Lily's motives might not be 100% pure . . . . "

"Then you believe us," Lucifer concluded immediately. "Good. Because we need you and Miss Lopez to help us figure out where Lilith has taken her."

Dan raised a hand. "I didn't say that I believed you. Not exactly . . . . But there was something weird that happened when Lily was here. She did some kind of hypnotist voodoo thing on me—made me feel all gooey inside for her. She was literally all I could think about, which is crazy. I mean, she was hot, but not_ that_ hot. And now, my mind feels fuzzy." He shook his head back and forth as if he were trying to clear it.

"That's what she does," Lucifer said. As his concern for the Detective ratcheted up ten thousand degrees, a persistent buzzing began in his ears. Wiping his forehead with the palm of one hand, he realized he was actually sweating.

"What do you mean 'it's what she does?'" Dan asked, bearing down on them in a tone he might use to interrogate a suspect.

"It's really more of a parlor trick," Maze explained.

"It's not a parlor trick, Maze," Lucifer roared. Then, realizing that he was drawing unnecessary attention, he lowered his voice and said, "You're going to give him the wrong impression. Lilith is dangerous, and the Detective is not safe with her. If you're not going to help us find her, Daniel, we'll do it alone. But they must be located before any harm befalls the Detective."

"All right, all right. Calm down, man," Dan said. "We should probably check the cameras outside the precinct and in the garage. That'll show how Lily and her crew left and what they were driving."

* * *

After a couple of calls to security, the three of them were able to cluster around Dan's computer to comb through surveillance footage from earlier that afternoon.

"_Hey_, Lucifer," Ella called out happily as she entered the room. Gripping his shoulder, she leaned into their huddle. "Chloe said you left. What happened? Did you tell the CIA to stuff it?"

"I was unavoidably detained," he muttered, not looking away from the monitor for an instant as he scanned the footage, waiting for a sighting of the Detective.

"What are you guys doing?" she asked.

Through the thick fog of worry in Lucifer's mind, he registered the distant sound of Maze's voice as she explained, "Lilith took Chloe."

"Who's Lilith? Oh wait, you mean Dan's _lady friend_ . . . . "

"First of all, she's not my lady friend," Dan said through gritted teeth. "And second, we don't even know that she took Chloe. All we know is that they left the precinct together."

Suddenly, Maze thrust a finger at the screen. "_There_."

Maze was right. On the screen, the backs of Lilith's and the Detective's heads came into view, followed by a few other people whom Lucifer immediately tagged as demon trespassers. Leaning in closer, he watched as a black van pulled up to the curb outside the precinct.

"Hey, it's "Dumpy Grey Suit," Ella said. "Wow, he's a terrible driver. Wait, is she—"

Dan pointed to the Detective's right hand. "Look, she's going for her gun. And oh—oh, shit."

They all watched helplessly as the elderly woman bludgeoned the back of the Detective's head with the metal handle of her cane. Like an accordion that's lost its oomph, the Detective crumpled helplessly to the ground. No sooner had her head hit the concrete than a woman in workout wear began hovering above her. After several failed attempts to drag the Detective by the ankle and the wrist, the woman finally leaned down and grasped her beneath the arms. As she scraped the Detective's body across the open doors of the van with little thought or concern for her well-being, Lucifer reached out and gripped the edges of Dan's monitor, sliding it closer. On the screen, Lilith's minions folded the Detective's body into the van, climbed in behind her and slid the door closed. By that time, the driver had already pulled away from the curb.

"Do you believe us now?" Lucifer demanded of Dan, feeling almost completely overwhelmed by an unbeatable mixture of outrage, anger and powerlessness.

"I'm getting there," Dan conceded.

* * *

Lucifer pulled out his flask and leaned back in the conference room chair. As the smooth metal spout touched his lips and the warm liquid flowed into his mouth, it did little to assuage his mounting concern for the Detective's safety. "We're wasting time. They could be hours away by now," he predicted.

Maze pushed back her chair, and the force sent it spinning in a circle. "Lucifer's right. It's been hours. They could be halfway to Tijuana. We should—"

"The van's registered to a painting contractor out of Manhattan Beach," Dan said, walking into the conference room with a single piece of paper in his hand. "We ran the plates, and it looks like it was stolen this morning."

"Stolen from where?" Ella asked as she looked up from her laptop. For the seventh time, she was reviewing the surveillance footage, hoping to notice something they'd missed during the first six viewings.

"Outside of a Best Buy on Sepulveda." Dan put a pin on a map of L.A. that they'd tacked up on the display board. The only other pin marked the location of the precinct.

"Maybe Lily and her friends have a connection to that location," Ella suggested. "At least it'll help to narrow the search area if we can't figure out where they went after they left here." Walking over to the map, she pointed at an intersection near the precinct. "Traffic cams place them at this intersection a minute or so after leaving here. Then, they're here, here and . . . here," she explained, tracing a path through L.A. with the tip of her pen. "And then the trail runs cold. They could've been heading back to Manhattan Beach, I suppose."

"So you're saying they just disappeared?" Lucifer asked. "That's not possible. You need to look harder, Miss Lopez."

Ella shook her head. "It's more likely that the traffic cams just didn't catch them or they were lucky enough to pass through a few intersections without cameras. I'll keep looking. They're bound to turn up on some footage. Knowing where the van was stolen gives us a clue as to their home base, so we'll shift our focus to that area and see what we can turn up."

"Manhattan Beach, you say?" Maze clarified, walking toward the door and yanking it open. She nodded to Lucifer. "Let's go."

Dan looked away from the map. "Where are you two going?"

"The lot where the van was stolen, for starters," Lucifer told him. "We'll fan out from there, and hopefully by then, Miss Lopez will turn up something with her traffic footage."

"So you're just going to go out there and hope to stumble across them?" Dan snorted. "Sounds like a pretty stupid plan."

"A characteristically douchey response from Detective Douche. Daniel, you never fail to disappoint," Lucifer said, standing up and walking toward the doorway. "Maze's idea is certainly better than sitting here watching you and Miss Lopez press pins into a map. The Detective is _missing_, and with every minute I spend sitting here inert and useless, Lilith gains more ground."

"Just try not to do anything illegal," Dan warned them. "No smashing people into walls or dangling them off of buildings. And no whips, chains or torture devices." Then, tossing up his hands, he said, "You know what? Never mind. It's Chloe. Just do what you have to do."

"We'll call when we find something," Ella yelled after them just before the door shut.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Maze whispered, "Did you recognize any of Lilith's friends?"

"Not specifically. I'd need to speak to them to ascertain their exact identities, but I'm sure we can assume they were probably the first demon rabble to crawl into a dead body when Lilith summoned them. And we should also assume that if she's got four of them, she'll have doubled or tripled her count by this time tomorrow."

"Then, we'll find Chloe before then," Maze assured him. "I track people for a living, and Lilith is anything but subtle. She won't be able to hide from us for very long. The odds are definitely stacked in our favor."

* * *

With his hair drooping forlornly across his forehead, Lucifer slouched against the car window. In a move that would have demonstrated questionable judgment under normal circumstances, he had allowed Maze to drive. His priorities had shifted dramatically within the past day, and he found that he no longer cared about the health and safety of a mere automobile. Maze could drive it off of a cliff, for all he cared—as long as they located and liberated the Detective first. The main reason he'd allowed her to take the wheel, however, was that after countless hours and a fruitless search for the Detective, he no longer possessed the mental acuity necessary to drive them around the L.A. area.

"I underestimated Lilith's ability to fly under the radar when she's motivated," Maze admitted.

"It's been more than twenty-four hours," he remarked in a dispirited tone. With every hour that passed, he felt the Detective slipping away from him. It had been more than a day since he'd awakened next to her after the best night of his life. At the time, their worst problem had been the impending separation, which had loomed ahead of them with the certainty that it would cause pain. However, when compared to their current predicament, the small issue of him returning to Hell without her seemed like a mere trifle.

"I know what you're thinking," Maze said, looking across the car at him. "Lucifer, Lilith isn't going to kill Chloe."

"You don't know that."

Maze shrugged. "Chloe isn't the one she wants. Lilith won't kill her."

Lucifer raised his head off of the glass. "She wants me. Is that what you mean?"

"Exactly. And Chloe's the only way to hurt you."

"An interesting theory, but she couldn't possibly know the Detective makes me vulnerable. Only a select few are privy to that particular piece of intel. Amenadiel, Linda, me, maybe a few of my siblings . . . obviously, Dad knows . . . . None of them would have disclosed the secret to her."

"What about Father Kinley?" Maze asked. "He knew."

"He's well occupied in Hell. Trust me, he wouldn't have had time or the opportunity to spill the beans to Lilith."

"Okay, then. What about Dromos? He overheard you and Chloe at the Mayan."

"It can't be Dromos. Dromos is locked in his cell in He—" Lucifer stopped himself, finishing the rest of the thought silently because he couldn't bear to hear his voice saying it out loud. "_Dammit_," he yelled, smashing his fist against the dashboard. The impact left a sizeable depression in the leather. "It was Dromos."

"What do you mean? I thought you said it couldn't be him."

"I should've ended him when I had the chance. I convinced myself that he needed to suffer and that death was too easy," Lucifer said, nearly boiling over with the knowledge that he had been complicit in the Detective's kidnapping. "This is all my fault, Maze. The Detective is in danger because of me."

"You think he could've gotten to Lilith?"

"They were in adjacent cells," Lucifer explained. "It's the only thing that makes sense. I'm sure of it."

"How can you be sure? Dromos would've been heavily guarded. Plus, you don't exactly get a lot of free time when you're being tortured."

"I'm sure," he roared, "because I'm the Devil." Lucifer's anger evaporated in an instant, and his head dropped against the window again. "What does Lilith want with the Detective? I mean, obviously, it's about me, but what's her motive? Is it retribution? Payback for keeping her imprisoned in Hell for all those years? Even she should realize I was only following orders . . . that I was just my father's foot soldier."

"If we're right, and she does know about the effect Chloe has on you, then at least there's one silver lining," Maze suggested.

"I know," he sighed in weary acceptance of the truth. "It means the Detective is still alive."

* * *

Someone had taken a sledgehammer to the back of her head. The throbbing was sharp and unrelenting. But maybe, Chloe thought, if she lifted her head off of the cold tile floor . . . . No, that was definitely not better. She lowered her head to the ground again and winced when even that controlled impact sent razor blades through her skull.

Rolling from her back to her side, she slowly raised one eyelid and assessed her surroundings, as she'd been trained to do. Tile floor, dark room, sparse accommodations, metal beams along the ceiling and little or no light source. The only illumination appeared to be coming from the open doorway across the room, and at the moment, that was partially blocked by a shadowy figure who had positioned herself between Chloe and the door. The figure was definitely human—or humanesque—and it was most certainly female, if the stilettos and tight skirt were any indication. Chloe's vision was incredibly blurry, but based on the way Lilith had presented herself at the precinct, Chloe guessed that it was probably her.

"Did you drug me?" Chloe stumbled across the words, reaching through the fog for clarity.

"Maybe a little," Lilith admitted with a tinny, mechanical giggle that echoed relentlessly off of the walls, sending needles into Chloe's skull. "We couldn't have you waking up while we were getting you situated. That would have been inconvenient—and possibly messy."

Chloe rested one hand on her hip, feeling for the comfortingly cold wedge of steel that should have been there. Instead, her hand landed on an empty holster.

"Naturally, we removed your weapon. Surely, you didn't expect us to let you keep it."

"None of this makes any sense," Chloe murmured. "Where are we?"

Lilith laughed. "Now, if I told you that, it would ruin all the fun."

"You think this is fun?" Chloe slurred.

"Well, what I meant was that it's fun for _me_," Lilith clarified.

"Lilith, what do you want from me?" Chloe knew the answer to the question . . . she was sure of it. She just couldn't remember exactly what it was . . . .

"At the moment, I want nothing from you. You're just a means to an end. And even later, once I have all the ingredients I need, it will require very little effort on your part. You'll be able to sit back comfortably here in your cell and enjoy a relatively easy existence. That is, unless you don't like small, enclosed spaces that are dark and damp. If that's the case, it may not be the most pleasant circumstance for you."

"I don't understand . . . ." Chloe's voice trailed off, and she experienced an agonizing burst of vertigo as she attempted to lift her head off of the ground again.

"All I want is my freedom," Lilith announced, "and you're the only way I can assure myself of that. In the meantime, you should be thanking me for these accommodations. I can promise you that they're far better than anything your paramour afforded me during my extended sojourn in Hell."

"My _what_?"

"Lucifer, dear. I'm referring to Lucifer, of course."

Normally, when it came to understanding a perp's motivations, Chloe's observations were razor sharp, like well-tuned harp strings waiting to be plucked. Now, however, her mind was a jumbled mess that more closely resembled a pile of sluggish spaghetti noodles left in a soggy heap on someone's plate. The process took far longer than it should have, but she finally understood that Lilith was planning to use her to draw out Lucifer. _But no, no, no,_ Chloe admonished herself. That thought was still slightly left of center. It didn't quite make sense . . . because . . . because . . . because Lucifer wasn't difficult to find. He wasn't in hiding and didn't need drawing out. Chloe wasn't necessary to locating a man who was brazenly out in the open, and Lilith must know that. Which meant that Lilith was holding her hostage for an entirely different reason . . . . Ever so slowly and with a considerable commitment to clearing the fog from her mind, the truth returned to Chloe. They'd already had this conversation at the precinct. Chloe realized with growing alarm—for a second time—that Lilith must know . . . .

Just as she'd done back at the precinct, Chloe decided that bluffing was her only option, and so she said, "Lilith, I don't know why you'd need me for anything. I'm just an ordinary human."

"Ah, but I think you have far more than that to offer. And I think you know it."

"Lilith, I can't possibly be of any use to you. There's nothing special about me."

"That remains to be seen," Lilith said. Approaching Chloe, she hissed through the darkness, "Dromos certainly wasn't of that opinion. Now, that is all I'm going to give you for the present, although I must admit that I've enjoyed our little chat." Before Chloe could formulate a response, Lilith drew back her arm, forming a tight fist. Although Chloe expected and fully prepared herself for another painful blow to the head, something sharp pricked her neck instead. _A needle. It had to be a needle_, she decided as her thoughts began to grow murky. It wasn't long before Lilith and everything in the room grew foggy and discordant until finally, Chloe gave up. Shutting her eyes, she let it all disappear.


	9. Chapter 9

_Resting_. He was supposed to be resting. That's what Maze had told him to do, anyway. She'd said he needed sleep—that he wasn't thinking clearly. "Coming unglued," was the actual phrase she'd used. She'd been right, of course. Absolutely right. But even so, Lucifer had refused to acknowledge it openly and hadn't heeded her advice. When the Detective was safe, he would sleep again. And at any rate, it wasn't like he could die from fatigue. Without the Detective around, he couldn't die at all. Without her, he would just slowly and gradually descend into madness.

Maze had dropped off Lucifer at Lux and taken his car back over to Linda's house. And just like a disobedient child, he'd immediately summoned a cab to take him to the station. There was no way he could rest when the Detective—when _Chloe_—was being held captive by a preternatural slut with a penchant for sadism.

When it came to the Detective's well-being, Lucifer was a willing target. If Lilith wanted him, he was fully prepared to surrender himself in exchange for the Detective's freedom. Assuming that Lilith understood that, why couldn't they locate her? Why hadn't she attempted to make contact? Why was she making things so difficult? Unless . . . she was toying with him . . . drawing out the process like some cruel game of Cat and Mouse. Lilith was positively barbarous.

"Hey, Big Guy, how are you?" Ella asked. Her voice was heavy with concern as she crossed the station and forced him to endure a beastly hug. "You look terrible."

"Thank you, Miss Lopez. I appreciate the candor," he responded, realizing that he must look as ghastly as he felt.

"Have you been sleeping? Because your eyes are all red and bloodshot . . . . Man, Lucifer, you look like one of the corpses down in the morgue."

"I haven't slept a wink since the Detective went missing," he admitted freely. "How could I?"

"Well, it's been three days. You have to sleep—even if it's just for a few hours."

"Maybe later . . . ." he told her. "So am I to assume that you haven't come up with any new leads?"

"Not really," she said, leading him into the lab and pulling out a stool at the table for him.

"That's not a 'no,'" he observed, experiencing a brief flicker of hope amidst a multitude of dying embers. "Remember that you promised to keep me informed if you had any leads—no matter how ridiculous they might seem."

"Okay, then. I'll tell you about this one thing. I doubt it's even connected, but it is on the weird side. And Lily—or Lilith—does seem to traffic in weird, so . . . ."

"Yes, yes," he prompted her. "Spit it out, Miss Lopez. _Please_."

"Well, a bunch of men have gone missing—twelve so far. Now, I know what you're probably thinking . . . ."

"I doubt that very much, but feel free to hazard a guess."

"Porn convention." She held up her hand, preparing to receive a high five. "I nailed it, didn't I?"

"Not even close," he informed her and watched as her face fell and her hand returned to her side.

"Wow," she said, shaking her head. "Chloe's disappearance has really got me addled. I'm usually much better at reading people."

"We're all a bit off of our games at the moment," he consoled her. "Why don't you tell me more about the missing men?"

"Okay, yeah. So the men have all been reported missing by girlfriends, wives and roommates. A couple of detectives from upstairs are working the case. And get this—a few hours ago, a girl named Leah came in. She was out at a bar with her roommate Geoff, and she witnessed a middle-aged woman totally putting the moves on him. According to Leah, the woman was a real cougar. She was so-so in the looks department, but this guy Geoff could _not _get enough. At the end of the night, he ended up leaving with the cougar, which was totally unlike him, apparently. That was almost a day ago, and no one has heard from him since."

"Why would you doubt that this is connected?" Lucifer demanded, popping off of the stool like a firecracker that's suddenly been ignited. "It's _obviously_ connected. It sounds just like Lilith!"

"_Easy_," Ella said, soothing him with a hand on his forearm until he relaxed and returned to his seat. "We don't know that it was Lilith. Although, based on the physical description, it does sound like it could be her."

"Of course, it's her."

"I'm not saying it isn't," Ella acknowledged. "I just think it's important not to go down the rabbit hole until we're sure. Do you think the other missing men are connected to Leah's friend?"

"Undoubtedly. Did they all go missing from the same bar?"

"No, but they were all in this vicinity," Ella disclosed, walking over to a map she'd posted on the wall and drawing an imaginary circle with her hand.

"Where was the most recent one?" Lucifer asked, already standing up.

"Some dive bar in West Hollywood called the Bleating Goat. The other disappearances happened in the same area—mostly in bars and shady night clubs—but Geoff's disappearance was the only one at this place."

Exiting the lab in a flurry, he called back, "If you need me, I'll be at the Bleating Goat." As he walked by Dan's desk, Lucifer tapped him on the shoulder. "Detective Douche, let's go."

"Where are we going?"

"Out to investigate a possible lead. I need a wingman."

"And you want it to be _me?"_

Lucifer rolled his eyes. "I know. I'm just as surprised as you are. But Lilith seems to have a bit of a tendresse for you, and I'm hoping she won't be able to resist your inexplicable allure."

* * *

Lucifer drummed his fingers against the tabletop, mindlessly tapping out a rhythm as he surveyed the bar for any signs of Lilith. So far, she'd failed to appear, but they'd only been at the Bleating Goat for an hour. There was still time.

"Hey, man, would you stop doing that?" Dan grumbled.

"Stop doing what?" Lucifer asked, craning his neck for a better view of the door.

"Stop tapping your fingers on the table like that," Dan explained. "It's annoying."

Lucifer complied with the request, but it wasn't long before his foot began beating a similar cadence against the table leg.

"So this is your big plan?" Dan asked with a scowl. Nursing his beer, he tossed an unimpressed look across the booth at Lucifer. "We're just going to sit in some dive bar and wait for Lilith to show up?"

"Miss Lopez said this was the location of the most recent disappearance. We questioned the bartender, and all he remembers is seeing the man leave with a woman matching Lilith's description. So for lack of any other options, we wait."

"And if she doesn't come back to this particular bar?" Dan asked.

"Then, we'll stake out every establishment in West Hollywood until we find her."

"But who's to say that she won't move on? If the cops are bringing the heat, Lilith might decide to take her business elsewhere."

"I don't think so," Lucifer muttered. "I have a feeling she wants me to find her."

"What do you mean she _wants _you to find her?"

"Don't ask me to explain, Daniel. It's just a hunch and not something you could possibly comprehend."

"You know," Dan said, sighing into his beer. "I'm starting to suspect that there's more to all of this than you're letting on."

"You're suspicions are correct," Lucifer agreed. In spite of the "on again, off again" animosity between the two of them, he refused to lie to the man. "Unfortunately, you'd never believe me if I explained the whole of it to you."

"I might," Dan admitted. "I'm definitely getting there. There are a lot of things I've witnessed that just don't make sense."

Having seen this stage with Linda and the Detective, Lucifer recognized that Dan was on the precipice of understanding the "bigger picture." He was asking the right questions, and he seemed to want to know more. But was he really ready for it? With the Detective, she'd seemed open to learning the truth several times, but each time she'd willingly regressed into a cocoon of denial because it was safer that way. He had been afraid to tell her, and on some level, he realized that she'd been afraid to find out. Fortunately for them, the unexpected reveal of his Devil Face was fortuitous in that it forced a truth that she might not have known otherwise.

"Well, if you have questions, feel free to ask," he told Dan.

"And you'll answer them honestly?"

"I always do."

Dan rubbed the back of his head and took another long pull of his beer. "That's what I'm afraid of."

For a few minutes, they did exactly what two men in a bar often do—they sipped their drinks in silence and waited for a woman to join them. At length, Dan seemed to feel the need to break the silence because he asked, "So, are you and Chloe, like, a _thing_ now?"

"Yes. We are, indeed, a 'thing.'" Owning his new status felt very official, and for just a moment, he took the opportunity to experience the satisfaction that came from knowing that he and the Detective were finally a couple. "Does it surprise you?" he asked.

"Not really," Dan conceded with a shrug. "We all knew there was something going on between you two, so I guess it was inevitable. And you do seem to make her happy, although I've never understood why. Just don't hurt her," Dan warned him. "Or I'll kill you."

By that time, Lucifer had nearly finished off his drink. Setting down the glass, he frowned. "You know, you may be right. This is probably a waste of time. Lilith isn't coming back to this same bar. It would be too easy."

"Maybe not. But like you said, it's the only lead we have. And it's better than sitting around the station waiting for someone else to disappear."

"Thank you, Daniel. I appreciate your support."

Dan sighed. "All right, look . . . . I know you and I haven't always seen eye to eye on things, but I can tell how much you miss Chloe. We all miss her. And we're going to do everything we can to get her back."

Lucifer picked up his glass and swirled the remnants of his fourth whiskey around, allowing the tiny hurricane to hypnotize him. "How's the urchin doing?" he asked. "I'm sure she must miss her mother."

"Lucifer, I know you've been stopping by the house to see Trixie."

Lucifer raised an eyebrow, glancing away from his drink. "How did you know? Did the child tell you?"

"No. It was the babysitter," Dan confessed. "And I've actually been meaning to say 'thanks.' Trixie's not doing so well with Chloe gone. As crazy as it sounds, your visits seem to help her."

"I can't imagine why," Lucifer said with a wry smile. Raising his glass to his lips, he drained it.

"Your guess is as good as mine. I imagine she considers you to be an extension of Chloe."

"I'd give anything to bring back her mother," Lucifer admitted. "Including my own life. I just wish we had some confirmation that the Detective is all right—that Lilith hasn't done her any harm."

"Chloe's out there, man," Dan assured him. "She's strong, and she's smart. She can get through anything. We're going to find her, and we're going to make Lilith pay for this. We just have to keep believing that."

* * *

Chloe awakened in almost total darkness, save for a slice of light that originated from a thin window in the top half of the door. The door itself was constructed of a heavy, insulated steel, leading to the conclusion that the room had once been used for refrigeration. Or as a meat locker, Chloe surmised. Several large clamps still hung from the metal beams overhead, lending support to that theory. Fortunately, the meat locker was now just a room—a room that reeked of ammonia and the lingering odor of blood.

Chloe raised her head off of the floor, looking for any other outlet besides the door. There was none. She'd been fading in and out for hours—or days. She had no clue how much time had elapsed. There had been mottled conversations with Lilith, during which Lilith continued to allude to the "connection" between Chloe and Lucifer, as if she were trying to understand exactly how and why Chloe made him vulnerable. Chloe realized that whatever Lilith's suspicions were, there was nothing in the way of conclusive proof about the actual nature of the bond—how it came to be and why it existed. Lilith only knew what Dromos had told her, and that wasn't very much. Chloe could easily see that her captor was thirsting for more information.

In spite of the incessant needling and frequent interrogations, Chloe had divulged nothing to Lilith. The nature of her bond with Lucifer was personal—something between the two of them that was only known by a handful of people. Chloe had no intention of bringing Lilith into that circle.

As the slide toward unconsciousness began again, Chloe's thoughts drifted back to her last happy memories with Lucifer. The night and morning that they'd spent together had been as perfect as they were bittersweet. At the time, she'd been worried about their impending separation, but never, in her wildest imaginings, could she have envisioned the way it would actually play out. It was worse than Hell. Clinging to her last memory of them together as if it were a life raft, she drifted back to a conversation they'd had before he left. With a weak smile, she rested her cheek against the broken tiles and began sifting through the memory, thinking of what he'd disclosed to her and how much he'd dreaded her reaction.

"_Do you have a spare toothbrush?" Chloe had asked as she leaned over the sink and splashed cool water on her face. From behind, Lucifer slipped his arms around her waist and nuzzled his face into the back of her neck._

"_Use mine. Second drawer down on the left."_

_Without looking, Chloe slid open the drawer and rummaged around inside. When her hand encountered something furry, she yanked it away and stood up straight, expecting to see some species of rodent in the drawer. What she saw instead made her laugh. Retrieving a pair of fur-lined handcuffs, she dangled them in the air for Lucifer to see. "These aren't Department-issued." _

_Lucifer raised his head. "Sorry about that," he said. Releasing one hand from around her waist, he took them from her and tossed them into the trash can. _

_Turning in his arms, Chloe leaned back against the bathroom counter. Suddenly, she found herself asking a question that had puzzled her ever since she'd realized that what they shared went far beneath the surface. "Lucifer, what if I'm not enough?"_

"_Don't be absurd, Detective. We've been through this."_

"_I know, and maybe this is a ridiculous conversation to be having, given that you're not staying here on Earth and we won't even be together. Hypothetically, though, if you were staying, I'm not sure that I could compete with fur-lined handcuffs and orgy pants."_

_Lucifer leaned in and whispered, _"_I've already told you, it's not a competition." _

"_I know you want to think that, but who's to say that with time, you wouldn't become bored with me." Averting her eyes in mild embarrassment, she forced herself to ask the next question. "What happens if you start to miss the orgy pants?"_

"_I don't need any of that stuff anymore. In fact, in recent years, I've come to realize that it makes for a rather tiresome existence. If Eve taught me one thing, it was that. The orgy pants and the handcuffs—as exciting as they once were—have lost their lustre. I no longer need__—__or want__—__them, which is why they're in the trash." With a contented sigh, he admitted, "I imagine that has quite a bit to do with you, Detective."_

"_But how could I ever be sure that you're not feeling deprived—or stifled? How would I know that I wasn't holding you back?"  
_

"_That could never happen. But if it makes you feel better, I can promise to always tell you if I'm having a difficult time with something. And in return, you could do the same for me."_

"_I just—" she continued, hesitating. "I just don't want to share you with a room full of other women. Honestly, I don't want to share you with anyone."_

"_Well, when it comes to that, we're in agreement. Because I don't want to be shared." She could tell that her unexpected admission left him feeling pleased—possibly even more so than her initial declaration of love. Rather than feeling suffocated, he seemed to appreciate the notion that she wanted him all to herself. "Detective, you have a firm lock on my heart. You're the only woman I've ever loved, and believe me, when the Devil falls in love after thousands of years, it's nothing to sneeze at. For me, this is the real thing. Your worries are unnecessary."_

_"It's the real thing for me, too," she said, feeling sheepish. She'd have to take his words on faith. It was all she had._

_Sighing again, he pulled her by the hand, leading her back into the bedroom. She sensed trepidation in his gait. "But while we're on the subject, I feel that it's time I share something with you. _ _I'm not sure how you're going to like it . . . . I know that it certainly took me a while to come to terms with the information. But in the interest of having no secrets between us, I need to explain something to you, Detective."_

_Nodding toward the side of the bed, he indicated that she should sit, and with a wary look in his direction, she complied. "What more could you possibly have to tell me?" she asked, laughing nervously. "There's the Devil Face, angel wings, demon sidekick and the truth bomb about God being real. Haven't we just about covered everything?"  
_

_"Not quite," he admitted. _ _Whatever he was about to say obviously had him feeling uncertain, and from that, she gleaned that it couldn't be good news. Standing at the side of the bed, he tilted his head to the left and then to the right. He stepped backwards, forwards and sideways, viewing the bed from various angles. As he stared at her, Chloe shifted uncomfortably on the mattress. "No. No," he finally decided, looking displeased. "That won't do." Reaching forward, he wrapped his fingers around her wrists and tugged her toward the living room._

_"What won't do?" she asked, feeling confused. Her question went unanswered as he charged ahead, seating her at the piano and stepping back to assess the location._

_"Well, it can't happen _there,"_ he said reproachfully. "Bloody terrible idea."_

_"Lucifer, what's happening?" she insisted. At that point, she no longer expected an answer from him. Even after nine months apart, she remained well-versed in the language of Lucifer. As such, she knew that when he was on a tear about something, it was often best to just let it play out to its conclusion._

_Turning a sharp ninety degrees, he crossed his arms and surveyed the sofa with a discriminating expression. "Maybe over there . . ." he surmised. "More often than not, I find that italian leather has a calming effect. Wouldn't you agree, Detective? Although I, myself, sometimes prefer tweed. Like Linda's couch. I don't suppose you'd be up for a drive to her office, would you?"_

_"Calming effect? Lucifer, what are you talking about? Maybe you're sleep-deprived. It's understandable . . . . there wasn't much time for it last night."_

_"Sleep-deprived?!" he responded in a heightened tone, shaking his head. "No, no, no. No. It has nothing to do with that."_

_"It doesn't?"_

_"Although you do have a point."_

_"I do?"_

_"As usual, you're absolutely right, Detective. The bedroom is the perfect location, of course."_

_Beckoning her forward, he darted off toward the bedroom once again, indicating that she should follow. When she hesitated, he rushed back and grabbed her by the hand._

_As he steered her back into the bedroom, she said, "Lucifer, we were just in here. Would you just tell me what's going on?"_

_"Not until you're seated in exactly that spot on the edge of the bed," he implored her, pointing to the same location she had vacated only moments before. "And I will be seated right here beside you."_

_He nudged her gently in the side until she finally sat in the appointed location, and then he joined her on the bed. Grasping her hand in his, he said, "That's better. This is the right place for us to have our talk." But then he said nothing._

_"Lucifer, just tell me," she groaned as concern began neatly shredding her calm façade into razor-thin strips. "Whatever it is, it can't be worth all of this build-up."_

_"Hopefully, you'll still feel that way in ten minutes."_

_"Lucifer. Tell me what's wrong," she repeated._

"_Nothing. Nothing's wrong," he assured her, rubbing small circles along the back of her hand with his thumb. "I promise you. I'm just worried about how you're going to react to what I'm about to say. Ah, well, maybe it's best to just rip off the bandage and absorb the sting all at once."_

"_Yes__," she agreed, placing her free hand on top of his. "I definitely think that's best."_

"_It's about our connection," he finally disclosed._

_Her voice quaked as she asked, "What about it?"_

"_Well, there's more to it than you know."_

_Chloe nodded slowly. In her mind, an incessant whirring began, and she faltered as she asked, "How much more?"  
_

"_Well, you know, of course, that you alone make me vulnerable, but there's actually a bit more to it than that. It really is a classic case of my Father and his meddlesome ways." Lucifer shook his head. "You see, some years ago, Dad sent Amenadiel to Earth to help a couple who had been unable to conceive a child. Ordinarily, my Father would never concern himself with such things, so it was an odd request, even for him. Naturally, being the _dutiful_ son that he is, Amenadiel complied with Dad's request___—no questions asked_. He blessed the couple, and they were able to conceive a child."_

"_Huh," Chloe remarked, waiting for the inevitable conclusion to the story. She suspected that she knew what Lucifer would say next._

"_The child was a miracle," he added, smiling weakly at her._

"_It was me, wasn't it?" she whispered._

_Lucifer nodded his head and squeezed her hand._

"_Oh," she said, mimicking his nod as her eyes dipped to the floor. The rug, which had previously seemed unremarkable, now became a focal point for her. The colors and the patterns suddenly held her interest above all else. The rug was simple and tangible, whereas Lucifer's disclosure was anything but that. _

"_Say something, Detective," he finally compelled her._

"_When did you find out about this?"_

"_Not until after you and I met," he admitted. "Amenadiel didn't even know that it was you—that you were the one—when he first met you. When he blessed your parents, he was only following Father's orders and being Amenadiel, he'd never deign to ask 'why.' It was only after meeting your mother for the second time that he made the connection. And even then, I wasn't told about it immediately."_

"_But what does it mean?" she asked._

"_Having all of the facts before us now," he explained, still gripping her hand in his, "we feel certain that Father created you and purposely put you in my path."_

_Chloe despised the quiver she heard in her voice as she asked, "Why would he do that?" _

"_Isn't it obvious? Because of the change he knew you'd invoke in me. He created you to _change_ me—to make me aspire to be better. He knew that when I came to Earth, we'd encounter each other, and he knew the effect that you'd have upon me. I suspect he even steered us into each other's paths."_

_Chloe narrowed her eyes. Now that the truth was out, she had questions . . . so many questions. "So we're like soulmates?"_

"_Now, don't go romanticizing it, Detective," he warned her. "I won't abide that. It was the ultimate ruse, and I can only regret that you were drawn into it. None of this is fair to you."_

"_Or to you," she noted. "From what you've just told me, you had nothing to do with what happened."_

"_Perhaps, but I've had thousands and thousands of years to acquaint myself with Father's tricks and manipulations. It's your reaction that worries me most. Are you angry?"_

_Was she angry? She couldn't decide . . . .  
_

_Confused? Yes. _

_Bothered? Yes. _

_But was she _angry_? Certainly not at Lucifer. "No," she finally concluded. "I'm not angry."_

"_But why not?" he demanded, sounding so outraged on her behalf that his indignation cajoled a smile out of her. "You_ should _be angry, Detective. I know I was when I found out. I don't mind telling you that I didn't handle it in the best way. Do you remember my sudden departure for Vegas?"_

"_Candy Morningstar," Chloe said, nodding in understanding. It was like a light bulb had been turned on. She'd experienced many such moments since learning the truth about Lucifer, and it always felt good to place another piece into the puzzle. "It all makes more sense now. You were mad at your Father for meddling in your life."_

"_And for taking away_ _your __choice! How could you—someone who is so good and perfect—care about me if not for Dad's interference? If left to your own devices, you might have made entirely different choices for yourself. Certainly, I wouldn't have been your first pick. But instead, he _forced_ you to love me." _

"_Lucifer, stop," she said, gripping his hand. "It's fine."_

"_No, it's not 'fine,'" he said bitterly. "You have every right to your anger and frustration."_

"_But I'm not angry. I already said that. I imagine that when you found out, you were probably very hurt," she guessed, "because you assumed that my feelings for you were compelled into existence by your Father."_

"_Yes," he confessed. _

"_The thing is, I don't think that's true, Lucifer. He may have created me as a foil to you, but nowhere in the story did I hear anything about me—or you—lacking choices."_

"_It was implied."_

"_How was it implied? So he created me. I'm a miracle," she said, swallowing a thick lump that rose in her throat. "That's all you and Amenadiel really do know for sure. And you've also concluded that we were predestined to run into each other. That seems reasonable enough. Perhaps your Father was aware of the effect that I would have on you. Okay, I'll give you that, as well. But I'm not hearing that he forced us to fall in love with each other. We might have just been good friends or acquaintances. Or we might've worked a few cases together and then gone our separate ways."_

"_How could I not fall in love with you?" Lucifer scoffed. "You're bloody perfect. And more to the point, you're perfect for _me_! Dad absolutely knew what he was doing when he created you. My choice was removed the moment I met you, and it would seem that yours was, as well."_

"_Lucifer, that's what it means to fall in love with someone. No one has a choice in who they love. At times, it can make for an agonizingly painful existence, but when it comes to you and me and our connection, we're no different than anyone else on Earth."_

_He paused and seemed to be considering her words. "You make a compelling argument. But let's just say that my Father did have a hand in forcing you to love me. What would you say if you knew that you were nothing more than a pawn in a much larger picture?"_

"_I would say that I don't care," she announced, suddenly feeling incredibly firm in her convictions. "Because loving you feels so right to me that I can't bring myself to worry about the 'why.' You make me happy, and the alternative to being with you is not even something I want to consider."_

"_Do you really feel that way?" he asked, and she could plainly see disbelief etched across his face._

"_I do. And if we're being truthful, knowing all of this makes me feel better about the handcuffs and the orgy pants. I can't believe I'm actually saying that, but there it is."_

"_How is that possible?"_

"_Because it explains our bond. It tells me that I'm not just some random human who struck the Devil's fancy. It means that it's bigger than you and me. And it means that I'm not just the Flavor of the Month to you."_

"_Certainly not," he said, resonating with displeasure. "You're special to me, and you always have been. Even without my Father's interference, you'd have flipped my existence on end."_

"_But it still makes me feel better to know that there's more to it," she said, resting her head on his shoulder. Chloe cleared her throat, unsure of exactly how to say what she wanted to say. "So is that something that angels do?"_

"_What do you mean? Blessing childless couples?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Well, no, Detective. It was the first and only time Amenadiel was ever asked to do such a thing. And I've never heard of any other angel being asked to do something like it before."_

"_I see," she said, and her voice was heavy with emotion. "Then I imagine your Father must love you very much." She shifted on the mattress, moving in closer until their lips were mere inches apart. _

"_After all this time, I suppose I'm willing to acknowledge that it's conceivable."_

"_Then, that makes two of us who care about you very much," she mumbled against his lips as she kissed him softly. "Now, is that all you have to tell me?" _

_"Of course, it is. What more could there be?" _

_"Well then, how do you feel about a shower?"_

"_That depends. Will you be joining me?"_

_"If you're lucky_,"_ she laughed, smiling coyly as she pulled him toward the bathroom._

"_Then, yes, I feel very good about a shower."_

Chloe groaned. A shower. A bed that wasn't made of dirt-stained tile. She would take either or both, if they were available. At least, the fog was finally lifting, and she could think coherently again. It had been a while since Lilith or one of her minions had driven a needle into Chloe's neck—longer than usual, in fact. As a consequence, she was almost entirely lucid.

The renewed sense of clarity was what prompted her to think about the door handle. In all the times it had been opened and closed, she couldn't recall one single instance in which a lock had clicked into place. She hadn't been entirely clear-headed, though, so it was possible that she'd missed something. Still, it was worth a try . . . .

Chloe pushed herself into an upright position. She didn't have the strength to stand, but she could crawl. The floor was hard and cold against her hands and knees and her limbs felt brittle from disuse, but gradually she worked out the kinks and managed to cross the room. When she reached the door, she sat back on her haunches and raised a shaky hand to the lever.

"Please be unlocked, please be unlocked, please be unlocked," she chanted quietly to herself as she attempted to lift it, only to hit immediate resistance. It was locked. With a soft thud, she let her head fall against the door, thinking that an unlocked door would have been too simple. Lilith wasn't simple, Chloe reminded herself. She was a lunatic.

Through the door, she heard the muffled sound of voices out in the hallway, and in a near-desperate attempt to amplify the sound, she flattened herself against the metal to make out what they were saying.

"Where have you been, Mother?" a male voice grumbled.

"I told you never to call me that," Lilith snapped, scorching the man—or former man—with her words.

"You were away longer than expected," another voice insisted, and this time, it belonged to a female. "We worried that you'd forgotten us."

"A woman has needs, and the satisfaction of those needs can take time. Surely, you must realize that," Lilith scolded them gently as her tone suddenly shifted from harsh and reproachful to tender and doting. As if she were talking to a small child, she added, "Now, as a reward for your patience, I've recruited a few more of your friends to assist in our efforts."

"You've brought us Diggory! And Botis!" the male demon whooped. As Chloe listened, the hallway dissolved into an ear-splitting assembly of hoots and grunts, during which time it became apparent that if the demons had been harboring any ill-will toward Lilith upon her return, it had been neatly expunged by the dysfunctional reunion she'd arranged for them.

On the other side of the door, the din swelled to a raucous blend of whistles and taunts that seemed to know no end. Finally, Chloe grew tired of listening, and decided to retreat to the other side of the room. But just before she turned away from the door, the revelry seemed to fizzle out and silence was suddenly restored.

One of the demons broke the silence, sounding confused and disappointed. "But you've also brought back a human," he observed. "I thought the goal was to raise as many of our kind from Hell before it's time to execute your plan. Why not kill him so that a demon might possess his body?"

"Well, I must admit that I took a liking to this one in particular," Lilith explained. "And of course, it goes without saying that he's quite taken with me, as well. He's very pretty, don't you think? I decided to keep him—at least for now."

"Seems like a waste of a perfectly acceptable vessel," the demon responded.

Lilith's reaction was immediate, and it was ruthless. "How dare you question my actions!" she shrieked. Her words exploded through the air like gunfire in an undisturbed canyon. "Insubordination will not be tolerated. Let Clem's fate serve as a lesson for anyone else who steps out of line." She paused. The other demons were no doubt waiting, as was Chloe, for Lilith's sentence to be handed down. When it came, her tone was quiet and controlled, and the utterance sounded almost flippant in its indifference. "Kill him," she said.

The horrified shrieks and pathetic mewling lasted for less than a minute and then, Chloe could only assume that Clem was dead.

"Would anyone else care to question my methods?" Lilith asked. "No? Well, then, let's go about our business. As you're all aware, there's still much to be done."

"How much longer will it be until we move forward?" someone asked.

"It won't be long now," she told him. "We have the woman. Now, all we need is Lucifer. And I have a feeling he'll come to us very soon. I'd actually expected to see him already, but sometimes these things can be unpredictable. Have you given the woman her next injection?"

"No, we haven't been in to check on her since before you left," a female voice confessed.

"Do I have to do everything?" Lilith demanded. "She's overdue for it."

"The injection was Clem's responsibility," the demon offered, and even through the door, Chloe could hear a shiver in her voice.

"How convenient. Well, since Clem is dead, you're now tasked with administering the injections. And _don't_ forget again."

"Yes, yes, of course," the female stammered. "I'll take care of it immediately."

Chloe jumped away from the door as if her hands had been singed by the metal. Acting entirely on instinct, she dropped to the ground and arranged her limbs in a careless display that was suggestive of a deep slumber. No sooner had she repositioned herself than the lock clicked and the door squeaked on its hinges, bathing the room in a thin triangle of light. From beneath her eye lashes, Chloe opened her eyes just wide enough to see that Lululemon was the demon who had been charged with administering the next injection.

"Lilith was just overreacting," Lululemon grumbled to herself, tapping Chloe's foot with the toe of her sneaker. "You're still asleep. I knew you would be."

She dropped into a crouch near Chloe's head and reached into the waistband of her yoga pants to retrieve a syringe. Removing the cap, she tested the plunger, allowing a tiny spurt of clear liquid to shoot out from the needle.

Lululemon was smaller than most of the other guards. As such, Chloe knew that she had a decent chance of overpowering her. So as proof that necessity is indeed the mother of invention, she managed to patch together a rough plan within a matter of seconds. Her strategy was simple: immobilize the demon and take her out of the equation.

As Lululemon bore down on her with the syringe, Chloe's eyes suddenly flew open and she lunged forward, knocking the demon onto her back and pressing a knee into her abdomen to hold her in place against the ground. Like a cockroach that's been flipped upside down, she struggled desperately to regain the upper hand, but Chloe struck fast. Grabbing Lululemon's wrist before the syringe could make landfall, Chloe drove the needle into the demon's neck instead and held down both arms amidst an erratic performance of writhing and grunting that eventually slowed to a sluggish display suggestive of oncoming sleep.

As soon as the snoring began, Chloe dragged herself to her feet and crept to the door. A cursory inspection of the hallway revealed poor lighting, peeling grey paint and only two other doors—one to her right and one to her left. The door to her right was across the hall, and more to the point, it was open. The room was illuminated, and Chloe heard voices inside. One of them belonged to Lilith. _To the left it is_, she told herself as she crept out of the room and along the corridor, cautiously approaching a single door at the end. A faint light from beneath the door warned her that the room might be occupied, but Chloe urged herself forward anyway. She had no other choice. She could play the victim or she could go on the offensive, and of the two choices, the latter presented itself as the best chance of regaining her freedom.

Gently gripping the doorknob, she turned it to the right and slowly pushed the door forward. As she leaned into the room, half expecting a burly demon to rush at her, she was relieved to see that it was unoccupied. Slipping through the open door, she closed it without a sound. A quick visual sweep revealed one sad truth—there was no exit door. Still, the room might offer a weapon of some sort, so as she walked toward the center, she began a careful inspection of the sparse furnishings, hoping to see something that might be useful to her.

The room boasted a handful of utilitarian light fixtures that were suspended from the ceiling. Several of them were burnt out, and the few that were in working order flickered unhappily, resulting in an unreliable display of half-light that rendered the contents of the room dull and indistinct.

Along the wall across from the door, long metal tables were stacked on top of each other, creating a precarious tower that looked as if it might be easily disrupted by a faint breeze. A faded metal sign leaned against the front of the table tower. "Burnett's Meats" was splashed across the face of it in red script, confirming Chloe's suspicion that the building had once played host to a meat packing operation.

The wall to Chloe's right was empty of any sort of paraphernalia, with the exception of a lone broom resting against the stained cinder block walls. If the coating of dust and grime on the floors was any indication, the broom led an idle existence and was seldom called into service.

It was the wall to Chloe's left that caused the most concern, however. With a sickening awareness, she crept closer, examining an intricate metal frame that had been bolted to the concrete wall. A network of ropes and chains had been anchored to it. From there, they slithered to the ground, culminating in a tangled heap that seemed more than sufficient to restrain even the most maniacal savage. And if restraint was one very obvious purpose for the setup, it was clear enough that torture was another. Perhaps even death at the conclusion of it all. As Chloe inspected a portable fire pit and sharp, iron pokers, she narrowed her eyes. Not far away, various blades and carving devices—many of them dull and rusty—had been carefully arranged atop a small table. Beside the table, an uninviting coil of leather cords lay dormant in a dented metal bucket. Chloe was no expert on torture, but if she had to speculate, she would have guessed that they were whips.

The entire scene was not only suggestive of torture. It painted a picture of complete and total depravity. The person in those restraints would be subjected to unimaginable tortures. With an unwelcome surge of nausea, Chloe absorbed the truth behind her discovery. The ropes and chains, the fire pit and pokers, the knives and leather cords . . . . They were all intended for Lucifer.

She had to warn him. And she needed a weapon. Chloe's hands trembled as she grappled with the knives on the table, wishing Maze were there to tell her which one to choose. _"Look, Decker,"_ she'd say, with undisguised scorn in her voice, _"if you're going for precision, you need a smooth blade. If you really want to make an impact, though, you're going to want something serrated. A serrated knife is quick and deadly. With one or two good cuts, they'll be mopping up organs off of the sidewalk. __And hey, don't forget the shiv. You never know when you'll need a backup."_

Feverishly scanning the table, Chloe selected a chef's knife with a well-honed tip—and a small shiv. And then, with the knife clutched in her left hand and the shiv stuffed into her boot, she turned and ran for the door.


	10. Chapter 10

Before she even reached the hallway, Chloe overrode the impulse that had urged her to run. Fueled by the image of Lucifer being tied up and tortured, she'd immediately launched into a hobbling sprint toward the door. But that had been wrong. Ordering her feet to stop, she acknowledged that she'd been acting like a panicked girlfriend when she should have been thinking like a seasoned detective. Had she planned to charge right past the demons and Lilith in her crazy pursuit of an exit? Did she really expect to jog past a room full of people without drawing attention?

Reconnaissance was the key to making informed decisions, she reminded herself. She had to figure out what was happening in the room down the hall—the one that had been occupied by Lilith and the demons only moments before. She also needed to find an exit. Anything she did would have long odds at success, but with a clear head and the right opportunity, she might be able to come up with something.

Chloe approached the closed door and silently turned the knob, leaning out into the empty hallway. Immediately, she saw what she'd missed during her earlier inspection of the corridor. The other end of the hallway was not a dead-end. It turned sharply to the left, and if building codes meant anything in the State of California, she had to assume that it led to at least one exit. Unfortunately, to get there, she had to pass the room where Lilith had been. With the stealth of a woman who'd been knocked around and left to languish in a meat locker for days, Chloe shuffled into the hallway. Using the wall as a support, she crept steadily toward the room. As she passed her former cell, she noticed Lululemon on the floor. Feeling thankful that no one had found the sleeping demon yet, Chloe reached over and pulled the door closed, hoping to prolong the inevitable.

When she reached Lilith's door, Chloe lowered herself into a crouch and slowly slid the knife out into the open doorway with the goal of using its reflective surface as a mirror. The image was somewhat indistinct, but she could see enough to know that Lilith was no longer in the room. Only two demons remained—one was bent over a table with his back toward the door and another was stretched out on a sagging, threadbare couch. Chloe could only hope that he was sleeping.

Staying low to the ground, she counted off from three down to one and rushed forward, passing by the doorway in a blur. On the other side, she froze and listened for any sign that she'd been detected. No sounds came from the room, and she allowed herself the luxury of a few relieved breaths as she stood up to her full height. With her back against the wall, she began a slow slide along the hallway. When she reached the corner, the knife once again proved its worth as a makeshift mirror, and Chloe was able to get a relatively clear view of what she could expect to find around the bend. Like a fading beacon, a poorly-illuminated sign hung from the ceiling, announcing the presence of an exit door. And fortunately, the hallway was empty.

Moving carefully and quickly, Chloe cleared the space between the corner and the door in a matter of seconds. _Moment of truth,_ she thought as she pushed open the heavy exterior door and walked into daylight. The sudden brightness rushed forward to greet her, and she winced.

After being locked up in near-darkness for days, Chloe had expected that it would take a moment to acclimate to the light. What she hadn't counted on was that her own lack of grace would ultimately sabotage her escape. As her boot crossed the threshold, its toe snagged on the raised metal strip, causing her to stumble and spill forward onto an asphalt walkway.

"Real smooth, Decker," she muttered to herself. After days of lying in a storage locker with very little in the way of nourishment or exercise, her calves screamed and her knees locked up. But she had to go on; there was no alternative. So she offered her body a bracing pep talk, and prepared to force the issue, if necessary. When her legs finally relented, she stood up, and after brushing off a smattering of loose stones that clung to her jeans, she prepared to keep going.

Instead, she hit a wall—a hard, brawny, impenetrable wall of muscle and human flesh. His neck was the size of a giant Sequoia, and his breath smelled like spinach and cigarettes.

"Going somewhere?" he snarled, seizing Chloe by the neck and wrenching the knife from her fingers. As it clanked against the gravel surface and bounced away, so did her hope of making an escape. The man-demon lifted her off of her feet with one hand around her neck and growled, "Lilith told me to come in and get you. Looks like you just saved me a trip."

With a light flick of his wrist, he tossed her to the ground as if she weighed no more than an apple. His hands were the size of bear paws, and as he clamped them around her neck and squeezed, she felt her airway begin to constrict. Chloe gasped for air, clutching at his windbreaker in a frantic and useless attempt at freeing herself, but he simply continued applying pressure until her windpipe was reduced to the size of a mere pinhole.

* * *

"Lucifer, where have you been?" Dan demanded. "You were supposed to be here an hour ago." He was slumped over a table at the bar they were currently staking out. His hair was noticeably disheveled, and there was a panicked edge to his voice.

"Calm down, Daniel. I stopped in at a few other establishments on the way here. The bartenders were all completely useless," Lucifer grumbled. "None of them could recall a woman matching Lilith's description. How is she managing to elude us? If the missing persons' reports are any indication, she's still in the area." Noticing Dan's wild-eyed stare, he asked, "What happened to you?"

Dan dropped his head onto his arms. "She was here," he whimpered.

"Who was here?"

"Lilith," Dan hissed, lifting his head and offering Lucifer a piteous expression. The effort of holding himself erect must have proved too much because he immediately allowed his head to fall onto his arms again.

"_Finally_, we're getting somewhere." Lucifer snapped his fingers and pointed at Dan. "Bartender, can we get this man another drink?"

"I've already had two," Dan mumbled into his sleeve.

"Don't be ridiculous. If it ends in 'tini' or 'Temple,' it doesn't count."

"It was Scotch," Dan said in a half-hearted attempt at defending himself.

Lucifer pulled out the chair across from him and sat down. "No time for napping. I need you to tell me exactly what happened."

"I'm trying," Dan whined, propping up his head on one arm.

"Well, you could stand to try harder." Two fresh drinks arrived, and Lucifer slid one across the table. "Drink this."

"Everything's really fuzzy and convoluted . . . . My head is jumbled, and my thoughts are all squirrelly. It's starting to come back to me, though. I just need some time."

"I'm afraid time is a luxury we can't afford at the moment, Daniel. Lilith is still at large, and the Detective's with her. I need you to pull yourself together and tell me what you know."

With a shaky hand, Dan slowly raised his glass and took a small sip of the dark amber liquid.

"Yes, that's it. Steady as she goes . . . . You'll feel better once you have a few more drinks in you."

As it turned out, Lucifer was right. By the time Dan had drained his third drink, he appeared far more lucid—or intoxicated. Lucifer couldn't be sure which one it was, but in either case, Dan finally seemed capable of describing his encounter with Lilith.

"She walked right up to me," he recounted. "She leaned down and sort of purred in my ear. I know it sounds ridiculous, but at the time, it was all I could think about. I would've done anything she wanted me to do. And that's just crazy, right?"

"Not a bit. That's exactly what she does. Tell me more."

"Well, she laughed at us—at you and me, I mean. She called us unoriginal. She's been watching us this whole time—or having someone watch us. That part wasn't really clear. But she knew what we'd been doing. It's sick, man. She's sick."

"Yes, very sick," Lucifer agreed in an effort to placate him. "What else?"

"She mentioned that she loves the modern world, whatever that means. She said there are so many opportunities for a woman like her . . . . I guess she's really into sex because it was pretty much all she talked about. She's a real piece of work."

"Did she give you any indication of where she might be holding the Detective?"

"No. She didn't," he admitted, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. "She did say that she'll be seeing us soon, though."

Lucifer drummed his fingers on the table. "So the mouse is finally coming out to lure in the cat," he observed. "It's about time."

"You know, this entire time, we've been sitting around waiting for her to make a move, and she's just been taunting us. Lucifer, we have to get out ahead of her or we're never getting Chloe back."

"I have a feeling we're coming to the end of it," Lucifer informed him, feeling calmer than he had in days. Now that Lilith had exposed herself, he knew it was only a matter of time before they found the Detective. "We just need to give her what she wants when she finally asks for it."

"Which is?" Dan asked. "What does she want?"

"_Me_, of course."

"Come on, man." Dan scowled. "Why would she want you? She doesn't even know you."

"We've been through this already, Daniel. You were beginning to come to terms with the truth. This is not the time to start regressing."

"Well, I've changed my mind," Dan informed him. "I'm fine with things just the way they are. You're just some annoying guy who tries to convince people that he's the Devil. Maze is not your demon sidekick, and you didn't come to Earth on a vacation from Hell and then decide to stay."

"No. That's no longer going to work, I'm afraid. You've come too close to the truth, and now you can't go back. You need to understand who Lilith is and what motivates her. She's the—"

"So help me, Lucifer, if you tell me she's the mother of a bunch of demons again, I'm going to lose it. I get that there's some weird shit going on, but if you want me to believe that you and Lilith know each other from Hell, I'm not even close to coming on board with that yet."

"Fine," Lucifer conceded, "Let's just say that Lilith and I knew each other previously and there's a reason she might want to be rid of me."

"Then, why doesn't she just come and get you? Why is she playing games with us?"

"Because she's enjoying the chase. And coming to get me, as you say, would also be a good deal messier for her. Lilith wants me to come to her willingly."

"How can you do that, though, if we don't even know where she is?" Dan cried in frustration, prompting several other patrons to turn and look at him.

Lucifer's phone vibrated in his pocket, and he pulled it out immediately.

"Lucifer?" Ella's voice leapt from the receiver as soon as the call connected. "We've got a new lead."

"Go on," he prompted her, receptive to any scrap of information that might point them toward the Detective.

"Do you remember the missing guy from the Bleating Goat?"

"Yes, of course I remember him. Why would you suppose I'd forget, Miss Lopez?"

"Hey, I know you're not sleeping. What is it that you Brits say . . . knackered? When I last saw you, you weren't exactly firing on all cylinders," Ella reminded him. "I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page."

"I'll have you know that thanks to this cursed earthly form and its frailties, I fell asleep for a few hours during the early part of the morning. So, no, I'm not _knackered._"

"Good," she said, sounding relieved. "Because I was worried about you, Buddy. You won't be of any use to Chloe if you're lying in a ditch passed out from exhaustion. But you know that as well as I do, so anywho . . . . We tracked the guy's cell, and we got a hit."

"You know where he is?" Lucifer asked, standing up and pushing in his chair.

"Sure, we know exactly where he is—or where his phone is. Just as long as he still has it on him—and Lilith still has him with her—we're in business."

* * *

Chloe was floating, weightless and free. The asphalt had slipped away, and she felt a light breeze against the exposed skin along the back of her neck. Was she in Heaven? Had she died? No, that couldn't be it. If she were in Heaven, she'd never feel pain, and at the moment, her head felt like it was being pulverized by a jackhammer on the highest setting. Heaven was supposed to be pleasant. What was it that Lucifer and Amenadiel called it? The Silver City?

Chloe tried to wiggle her fingers and realized that they were fastened securely behind her back. And a long strip of cloth had been tied across her mouth. How had she not noticed that before? A force that was firm and unyielding gripped her beneath her armpits and around her ankles. She was being carried. They were moving her. She couldn't yet open her eyes—the fog was too thick. But she possessed enough conscious awareness to sift through the basics and parse out what was happening to her.

Just as that much became clear, the experience grew rougher when the demons who were carrying her began tromping across a metal plank—or perhaps a ramp. Within seconds, she was lowered to a cold, metal surface that almost immediately jolted with the impact of a slammed door. Not long after, an engine roared to life, and the floor beneath her began to vibrate.

Finding herself increasingly more aware, Chloe dared to open one eye. It was just a small slit, but through her lashes, she could see Bear Paws and another goon sitting at the back of a box truck near the closed door. Their legs were spread out in front of them and rifles lay across their laps.

"Why do we have to move her?" Bear Paws asked.

"Because Lilith said so. Ain't that enough?"

"Just seems like a lot of wasted effort. We had her in one place and now we're moving her somewhere else."

"It's part of Lilith's plan. Do you want me to tell her you're questioning it?"

"No," Bear Paws growled. "But it seems like a whole lot of work to set this thing up when we already had a perfectly good hideout."

"You know what she's trying to do here. The payoff will be worth it. Besides, what else would you be doing if you weren't with us?"

"Torturing some sad sack soul down in Hell, most likely." Bear Paws grunted. "It used to be a kick, but after a few hundred years, a guy gets tired of the same old thing, day in and day out. At least Lilith's managed to shake up the routine."

"Here's to that, Brother."

Their conversation merely confirmed what Chloe had already known—these were no ordinary humans. They were demons who had possessed the bodies of dying souls—or souls that Lilith had killed. Several questions remained, though . . . where were they taking her? And why, as one of them had already noted, were they moving her from one location to another?

* * *

The faded metal warehouse was small and unassuming, tucked as it was behind a row of stores with false-front operations. Illegal gambling, money laundering, meth cooking . . . . One need only imagine the sorts of "enterprises" taking place behind the scenes in the seemingly reputable establishments that lined the street. A dry cleaning store, a Thai restaurant and a donut shop . . . . Lucifer could easily assume that none of those stores made their profits at the front of the house.

Miss Lopez had assured him that this was the place. She'd also urged him to wait for backup, or at the very least, Maze. He'd quieted her concerns with a guarantee that he would most _definitely_ call Maze. He just hadn't said when that would be. So technically, it wasn't a lie.

Having concluded his conversation with Miss Lopez, Lucifer had simply dropped the phone into his pocket and walked out of the bar. He'd heard the distant shouts from Dan as he glided past the hostess station and into the street, and he'd kept going. Lucifer had no intention of calling Maze before storming the warehouse where Lilith was holding Chloe. She'd only interfere with his plan. Trading his life for the Detective's would have little chance of success with his sometimes-loyal henchwoman nipping at his heels. Maze would never allow him to surrender himself to Lilith. She'd want to fight, and that would only endanger the Detective's life. It simply wasn't an option.

He also had no intention of allowing Dan to participate. Recently, Detective Douche had shown himself to be mildly helpful, but now, it was time for him to "wait in the car," so to speak.

"Hey, man," Dan called out as he ran up the sidewalk toward the warehouse. Having chased Lucifer for three blocks, he'd finally caught up to him, but that came at a price. He was fighting for every breath. "What're you doing? We can't just go charging in there without backup."

"_We_ aren't going anywhere," Lucifer said to him.

"Come on, Lucifer. You have to wait for backup. They'll be here in ten minutes."

"That won't work," Lucifer insisted. "And you aren't coming in with me. I regret having to do this, Daniel, but I assure you, it's for your own good. Since we seem to have graduated to frenemies once again, I'll try and make it as painless as possible." Grabbing Dan by the collar with one hand, Lucifer landed a punch to Dan's left temple.

"What the hell was that?!" Dan shouted, rubbing the side of his head as he struggled against Lucifer's grasp.

"Huh. You're still conscious," Lucifer observed, eyeing Dan skeptically. "It always works in the movies. I guess we'll have to do this the hard way." Reaching inside of Dan's jacket, he liberated a paid of hand cuffs.

"Oh, no," Dan protested, kicking Lucifer in the shin, "you're not leaving me out here."

"I most certainly am," Lucifer assured him. Snapping the cuffs onto one wrist, he released Dan's collar and towed him over to a water pipe attached to the warehouse. With one smooth click, Dan was neatly restrained, and Lucifer was free to carry on with his plan.

Lucifer tugged on the handle of a battered metal door. It was time. The Detective would, at last, go free in exchange for the one thing Lilith really wanted—him.

The door thudded shut behind Lucifer, and he stepped into a long, faded grey hallway that appeared to run the entire length of the building. At the very end, it turned at a right angle and disappeared to he knew not where. Long trays of fluorescent lights hung from the ceiling, and they flickered relentlessly, creating a spasmodic presentation that reminded him of an electric fly catcher ensnaring its prey.

"Lilith!" Lucifer announced, hoping to accelerate the process before the LAPD arrived on scene. "I'm here. Come out and show yourself."

There was no answer. And so, it seemed, the game continued. "Come out and face me, you primeval harlot."

"Is that any way to talk to one of your oldest and dearest friends?" Lilith clucked, stepping out from the corner at the end of the hallway. As she walked, the sound of her stilettos against the concrete floor echoed off the walls.

"You know me. I always tell the absolute truth."

"Yes," she hissed. "I do recall that about you. I must say, Lucifer, you're far more unkempt than I've ever seen you. Has something happened of late to disrupt your easy existence?"

Lucifer threatened her with a brief glimmer of Devil Face. It couldn't hurt to remind her that she was provoking the Lord of Hell. "Don't underestimate me, Lilith. I'm not one to be trifled with—now or ever. Release the Detective now or I will end you."

"I don't think so," Lilith responded, sounding far too casual. "You see, I've managed to bring quite a few of our friends to the party with me this time. They're strong, Lucifer. And _angry_ that you've kept them stashed away down in Hell for all these years."

"Do you think I can't handle a dozen or so demons? I'm the Devil," he boasted. "It's what I do."

"Normally, I'd be inclined to agree with you. Except, there's just this one little wrinkle . . . ." Lilith smiled serenely as her voice trailed off. With her left hand, she beckoned someone forward. When the person failed to appear, she grew frustrated. "For Heavens' sake, if she won't come willingly, _force_ her."

At Lilith's instruction, the Detective was shoved into the open space at the end of the hallway. The push forward caused her to stumble, but she quickly righted herself.

"Detective!" Lucifer breathed out, sending up an unintentional message of thanks to his father as he took several steps toward her.

"Stop right there," Lilith commanded him. "Or we'll hurt her." Lucifer froze.

The Detective was gagged and her hands were tied behind her back, but her feet remained free. Her eyes were wild, and he could see that she was trying to scream through the rag they'd tied around her mouth. When she attempted to run to him, a demon stepped out from the unseen hallway and reeled her back in. He pulled her against him and snaked an arm around her neck for added security. Lucifer lost himself completely. His Devil Face appeared and disappeared, flickering on and off. He had no control of it, and in his rage, he punched the wall to his right with a fist, driving a hole straight through to the empty space beyond. Only his fear that the Detective's demon captors might snap the Detective's neck held his feet to the floor at the opposite end of the hallway.

"Now, try and stay calm," Lilith soothed him. "As you can see, she's fine. And if you comply with my demands, she'll remain that way. You have my word."

"Your word means nothing, Lilith," he growled, allowing his human face to take over once again. It wasn't nearly as intimidating, but he felt like he could negotiate better that way. "Let the Detective go, and I'll come willingly," he promised.

Lilith laughed. "Such a noble offer. Unfortunately, that's not going to work for me."

"Very well," he concluded, gearing up for the possibility of a fight. "Let her go or I'll kill you. You should've accepted my first offer. The terms were much better."

"Kill me? I don't think so," she sang out. "Because I know your little secret. As long as I have your Detective," she said, "you can't kill me. You can certainly try, but with all the muscle I've imported from down below, you won't be successful. She's your Achilles Heel, Lucifer."

"Let her go," Lucifer demanded, "and we'll sort out the rest between us."

Lilith pretended to consider his offer. At length, she said, "No, I don't think we'll do that. From a big picture perspective, it doesn't make sense."

It was only then that Lucifer realized he'd made a gross miscalculation. Perhaps, he could blame it on sleep-deprivation. Certainly, his blinding fear for the Detective's safety had also played a hand in it. Whatever the reasons, Lucifer knew that he had misjudged the situation entirely. Lilith would never let the Detective go. She wanted them both. This realization came at the exact moment that the door behind him swung open, allowing sunlight to pour into the hallway.

Lucifer spun on his heel to face not one but three demons in human form, each wielding a knife. Simultaneously, all three of them plunged their blades into various points on his body—one into his left side, one into his shoulder and one into his right thigh. As they removed them, the pain tore through him. He struggled to defend himself, but the bleeding was profuse and the pain was too acute. Lucifer managed to land only a few good punches before buckling beneath the demons' repeated blows.

Just before he went down, he choked out a final, strangled edict. "Don't hurt her."


	11. Chapter 11

"Where's the Detective?!" Lucifer thundered as soon as he regained consciousness. His voice cracked across the sparsely-appointed room like a whip, suggesting a level of strength and authority that he no longer possessed. His arms and legs were shackled to a metal frame, and he'd been relegated to a space that smelled like sweat, dust and a dozen other things he would normally try to avoid. The tattered remains of his dress shirt clung desperately to his upper body, exposing widespread bruising and countless puncture wounds that were just beginning to clot. The pain was excruciating. In a short time, he'd been reduced to little more than a celestial pin cushion. Even so, his primary concern was, as always, the whereabouts and safety of the Detective. His concern for her well-being was draped across his sagging shoulders like a dark cloud, blotting out all the rest until he could know that she was alive. "Where is she?!" he shouted.

"Wouldn't _you_ like to know," Lilith laughed. A semi-circle of demons clustered around her, jeering and celebrating among themselves. Having played a role in capturing the Lord of Hell, they seemed to consider it within their rights to revel in their conquest. Lucifer bore them no ill will. They were grunt laborers with mediocre minds. As such, their reaction was to be expected. All the same, he fully intended to torture and kill each of them if and when the opportunity presented itself. Letting Dromos live had been a grievous error in judgment. It was a costly mistake that he didn't intend to repeat.

Taking a step toward him, Lilith pretended to pout. "I have to admit, when it comes to your Detective, I don't see what all the fuss is about. I suppose she's nice enough to look at—in a dull, 'prim and proper' sort of way. But beyond that, I don't understand the appeal."

Nearly every part of Lucifer's body had a grievance that it wanted to bring to his attention. To acknowledge so much pain at once would merely drive him to insanity, however. So instead, he directed his ire toward Lilith. "You're not fit to shine her shoes, Lilith, which I expect you know—even if your fragile ego won't allow you to admit it."

"You're just as contemptible as I am, Lucifer. It's part of our charm," she contended. "Or have you somehow forgotten that you and I are the same?"

He tried to laugh, but the sound came out as little more than a grunt. "Although that may have been true at one time, it no longer is," he acknowledged, disliking her comparison intensely. "I've evolved. You should try it. It's very liberating."

She waved away his suggestion as if it were a loaf of moldy bread. "I suppose _she's_ the one who's responsible for the change in you," she sniffed. "She's weakened you . . . robbed you of everything that made you interesting. It's all very sad, really."

"The sacrifice—if there was one—was made willingly," he assured her.

"You place her on quite the pedestal . . . . For your sake, I hope she never disappoints you."

"She won't."

Lilith shrugged. "You always were too trusting." Brushing against his side, she leaned into him and whispered, "But let's not talk about your boring Detective anymore. I'm actually more interested in discussing you and me."

In a languid, sultry tone, she hummed several bars of an ancient melody that called to mind opium-fueled evenings and saffron-scented dancers. Her breath was warm and moist as it slithered along his cheek, and she smelled of cheap hairspray and a five dollar bottle of Zinfandel. Lucifer closed his eyes, recoiling not only from her but from unbidden memories of a creature he no longer was.

With agile fingers, Lilith traced the contours of his abdomen through the torn fabric of his shirt. "As I recall, we got along very well together in the early days."

"Everyone is entitled to an occasional lapse in judgment," he responded, ignoring her advances.

"You don't really mean that. We were _very __good _together, Lucifer. Ours was an exceptional partnership."

Lucifer sneered, and that minor facial contortion released a ripcord of pain that tore through his neck and jaw. "We were never partners," he corrected her.

"Admit it. We had something special. You pleased me. I pleased you. Neither of us allowed pesky emotions to get in the way of all the fun." As she spoke, her rhythm was undulating and seductive, well-honed to entice and ensnare. "It could be that way again. Hmmm . . . just think of the irony. You'd be my 'former lover turned jailer turned lover.' Our chemistry would be _explosive_. The role-playing would be _exquisite_."

"If only I didn't find you thoroughly repulsive . . . ."

"I suppose I should hate you for the jailer part," she continued, seemingly unfazed by his response, "but guess what? I forgive you."

Her words, spoken so close to Lucifer's face, coated the shell of his ear with a repugnant film that left him feeling defiled. Lilith was filth and grime and everything that the Detective wasn't. Up until her escape from Hell, he'd been indifferent to her, but now, he despised everything about the woman.

"Your forgiveness is unnecessary," he told her with a lofty disregard, trying not to cringe from the physical effort that the rebuff required. He couldn't give her the satisfaction of knowing how low she'd brought him. "I don't care if you hate me. I'd prefer it, really."

"Ah, well, I'm sure you'll change your mind eventually. And if not . . . . c'est la vie. Your lack of enthusiasm makes no difference."

"Tell me something, Lilith . . . . If this was your goal all along, why play those silly cat and mouse games? We both knew it was me you wanted. Why not just come and get me?"

"They weren't silly games," she said, looking somewhat offended by his suggestion. "Before luring you to me, I had to ensure that we were ready for you. We had to secure the location and make sure it was sturdy enough to hold you. And, of course, I had to recruit enough muscle to capture and contain you. You wouldn't believe the amount of planning it takes to carry off an operation of this magnitude."

"I'm flattered by your efforts, but when it comes to playing hostess," he said, making a weak attempt to wiggle a wrist as an example, "you have a lot to learn. So tell me, what did you do with the police when they arrived?" he asked. Seeing no dead bodies around and no demon cops, he wondered what had transpired after the LAPD appeared on scene.

"Oh, we were gone by then," she explained. "We led you to that warehouse, took you down and then relocated you and your Detective. By the time the cavalry arrived, we had the two of you safely stashed in a van on your way out of the city.

"This place is far more secure and remote. No one will ever come here looking for you. And this time, I've left no bread crumbs. My 'boy toy' no longer has his phone—we've destroyed it now that we no longer need it. _That_ was just a fun little trick I learned from a gentleman at a bar. I couldn't believe it when he told me that such a device could be used to track its owner. But sure enough, I turned it on, and in very short order, you appeared."

"Where is the Detective?" he barked for a third time, feeling a pain akin to daggers along the wall of his throat.

"You're in no position to make demands, Lucifer." Snapping her fingers, she called out, "Spiros! Make him bleed. Show him who's in control now."

A hulking man in red flannel and a knit cap stepped forward, and Lucifer recognized him as Spiros, one of his whinier demons. Sporting a perverse grin, Spiros wound back and stabbed Lucifer beneath his left arm, reopening an earlier wound and introducing a fresh wave of pain. Like a river that's escaped its confines, the blood cascaded down Lucifer's side, splattering the concrete at his feet. As acute as the pain was, however, there was also relief. If he was bleeding, it offered definitive proof that the Detective was nearby. And she was alive.

"Do whatever you want with him," Lilith said to the demons, turning away. "Just don't kill him. If that happens, it will most certainly complicate things."

"Why not kill me, Lilith?" Lucifer gritted out. "Get it over with. Stalling is beneath you."

"We both know I'm not going to do that. You're a wild card. I'm not exactly sure what'll happen if you die, and I doubt you're going to tell me."

"Yes, I'm a bit of a unicorn in that respect," he agreed. "Between my siblings and myself, there's not a lot of precedent. But feel free to roll the dice if you fancy yourself a gambler."

"If I killed you, I can imagine that one of a few scenarios would transpire. Since none of them suits my agenda, I find that it's in my best interest to keep you alive. And to keep you _weak_, which is why your Detective is here."

"So that's your plan? Torture me for eternity?"

"I doubt it will be for eternity. How long do you think she'll live? According to my sources, a modern-day human could live to be a hundred, but more likely, she'll expire around the age of eighty. So we'll do this for a while, and when I get bored, I'll do something else. For now, though, torturing you suits me rather well."

Lilith made a spiraling motion with her hands, and one of the demons swooped forward and punched Lucifer in the stomach.

* * *

Chloe moaned, struggling to prop up her body against the wall. She was back in the meat locker, and she was on the tail-end of a drug-induced haze. Same story, different day. Or maybe it was the same day? She had no idea how much time had elapsed. All she knew was that her attempted escape had been a failure.

Drawing her knees up in front of her, Chloe let her head fall back against the wall as she stewed in her own hopelessness and frustration. How long would it last? And what was Lilith's ultimate goal? Lilith had Lucifer now, and she'd used Chloe to facilitate the take-down. It would seem that Chloe's purpose had been served. And yet, she was still alive.

When she heard Lilith's now-familiar footfall out in the hallway, she stiffened and waited for the door to swing open. Chloe expunged all trace of emotion from her face. Lilith would want to crow about her perceived victory, and Chloe refused to look defeated. Even if she felt it in every synapse and pore of her body, Lilith was not to know about it.

Lilith threw open the door and with hands on hips, planted herself just inside the threshold. On either side of her, a guard stood a deferential few paces back, blocking the doorway.

"So it takes two demons to protect you from me?" Chloe goaded her. "And here I thought I was just one ordinary human. _Interesting_."

"It was their choice to come," Lilith responded in a clipped tone. "They prefer to be near me, so I indulge them."

"Why am I back here again?" Chloe demanded. After the demons took down Lucifer, she recalled being dragged back to the truck and feeling the pin prick against her neck. After that, she remembered nothing.

"The move was only temporary," Lilith informed her. "We had to reel in Lucifer, and to accomplish that, we needed him weak. So we took you with us. As it turned out, you were quite useful."

"Where's Lucifer?" Chloe asked, hurling the words as if they were an accusation.

"_'Where's Lucifer?' 'Where's the Detective?'_ You two are so unoriginal." Lilith shrugged. "Does it really matter where he is?"

"Fine. You won't tell me. But I know he's nearby." Chloe had seen the torture chamber they'd created. That's where they were keeping Lucifer. She was sure of it.

"Well, I can tell you that I've just had a nice chat with him," Lilith said, "and you'll be pleased to know that he's finally conscious again. I find that's always the best way to torture a person. When the victim lacks awareness, it tends to be a fairly boring exercise. Stab, stab, punch, rip, blah, blah, blah . . . . so tedious and unexciting if they're unconscious. Having the victim awake creates the requisite amount of drama.

"So now that we have him awake again—and provided that he remains that way—the fun can really begin. We have Lucifer, and we have you, which means he's at our mercy. He's weak."

"Lucifer's not weak," Chloe said. "He's vulnerable."

"Aren't they one in the same?"

"No, they're not," Chloe countered. "And I won't let you use me to hurt him."

"How noble of you. Unfortunately, you don't have a choice, Silly Goose." Lilith laughed. "As long as you're near him, he'll _bleed_."

"And then what? You'll kill him?"

"No, no, no," Lilith said, making a show of being exasperated. "I'm going to hang on to you both. You'll be my little pets. I'll keep Lucifer here, subdued and virtually useless. And I'll have you, which ensures that he'll remain that way. He'll be alive and entirely under my control. It's all very exciting—I'll have the Lord of Hell at my disposal." She clapped her hands gleefully.

"You're insane," Chloe groaned. "You know his father and siblings won't stand for this. They won't let you keep him locked up indefinitely."

"They've never come to his rescue before," Lilith pointed out. "For as long as I've known Lucifer, he's been left to dangle in the wind alone. At this point, he might as well be an orphan. No one's coming to save him."

"But what about Amenadiel?"

"_Amenadiel?_" Lilith responded, cackling dramatically. "Now, _that_ is incredibly funny. He's the softest of them all. If he does come, my demons can handle him. I'm not worried at all about _Amenadiel_."

The more Lilith spoke, the more clear it became that she was completely deranged. Only a complete narcissist would believe that her strategy had any chance of success. Her plan was just ludicrous enough to get them all killed. If her long-term goal was to keep Lucifer at bay by holding them both hostage, it had almost no chance of success. With a sinking awareness, Chloe acknowledged the truth. There would be no happy ending for her and Lucifer. Whether it took a week or a month, someone was going to screw up and kill one, or both, of them. Their fates were on lockdown, and they were at the mercy of a madwoman.

"You belong in Hell, Lilith," she muttered.

"Actually, I was created from the Earth. Ergo, it seems rather obvious that _this_ is where I belong. After all, it was _my_ Earth before it was anyone else's.

"And just so you're aware, you might want to rethink any plans to escape again. Naturally, I've instructed my friends to be far more vigilant going forward," she said, angling a scornful gaze over her shoulder at the demons. They'd had nothing to do with Chloe's escape attempt, and yet, Lilith still seemed to hold them accountable. "I'm willing to forgo the drugs for the time being, if you behave. The nurse I was using as my supplier had to leave us so that one of my demon friends could use his body. It was an unfortunate sacrifice, but it had to be made.

"So if you promise to be on your very best behavior, I'll allow you to remain awake. But no more wandering around," she added sharply. "And as an inducement to staying in your cell, you should know that as soon as you're gone, Lucifer becomes a liability to me. He'll recover from his wounds and then he'll be dangerous, which means we'll have to kill him before that happens."

"If I'm gone, you won't be able to kill him," Chloe reminded her.

"Which is why I plan on keeping you here. And as an added measure of security, I have some tricks up my sleeve," she said smugly. "Or one trick, to be exact. It's just a small inducement, but I think it will prove rather effective at keeping you in check." Giggling like a schoolgirl, she continued, "Should I tell you? Hmmm . . . . It really is such a juicy, little secret that I hate to let it go."

"Spit it out, Lilith."

"Very well. You win," she said as a sly grin slowly stole across her face. "You see . . . a little birdie told me about the child."

"What child?" Chloe asked, chasing the tremor from her voice.

"Why, yours, of course. I know all about her, and that includes exactly where I can find her if, and when, I need her. I know that her school day begins at precisely eight o'clock in the morning, that it ends at two-thirty in the afternoon and that she and her father often go out for ice cream in the evenings. I can even tell you that her flavor of choice is something called peppermint twist."

Chloe jumped up from the floor and lunged at Lilith. When the demons forced her back against the wall, she yelled, "Don't you _dare!_"

"Let's keep it under control, shall we? I'll leave her alone for now, mainly because I really do loathe the little brats. But do keep her in mind as it relates to your behavior . . . . Feed her," Lilith demanded of one of the demons, pushing the other one toward the door. "And don't forget to be on the lookout for a surprise attack. She can be devious."

When Lilith was gone, the remaining demon dropped a metal tray to the ground and punted it across the room with his foot. Chloe ducked as a water bottle flew at her head and hit the wall. "Eat," he commanded. "I'll be back in ten minutes to get the tray, and if you haven't finished, I'm taking it anyway."

"What if I don't want it?" Chloe inquired.

"Then, you'll starve."

"Is that really what you want?" she pressed. "If I die of starvation, Lucifer will heal. You'll have to kill him, according to Lilith. And then the party will be over."

"Lilith says she has ways of protecting us."

"Ways of protecting _you_ or _her_? She doesn't strike me as much of a team player. I mean, didn't she blame you _all_ for my escape even though only one of you was truly at fault?"

"You're wrong! Lilith is our mother. She cares for us like no other. All of this . . . everything she's done . . . it's all been for us."

Chloe chuckled. "Lilith only cares about herself. And the second you disappoint her, she'll kill you just like she killed Clem."

"Clem was disrespectful. He never should have questioned Lilith. It's his own fault that he's dead."

"Or _maybe_ . . . Clem was right. And _maybe_ Lilith's plan is destined to get you all killed."

"Just eat," her captor growled, but there was a small thread of hesitance running through the command. She'd unseated him with her words. It was small satisfaction, but it was all she had. Perhaps in time, she could chip away at him further and gain some ground.

If there was one consolation, it was that Trixie was safe. Without a doubt, if Lilith had taken Trixie or hurt her in any way, she would have wanted to boast about it. More to the point, she would have used it as a means of demoralizing Chloe. That thought alone gave Chloe some solace and allowed her to focus her energy on the matter at hand—finding a way to get her _and_ Lucifer away from Lilith. Because when they left, it would be together, no matter what had to transpire to make that happen.


	12. Chapter 12

Lucifer had known pain. He'd known it in all of its various shades and nuances. Some might even say that he'd known more than his fair share. After all, he'd been around for a while, and with a long existence, comes the potential for a decent amount of pain. There was nothing particularly novel about that concept. What was interesting about Lucifer's pain, however, was that he'd endured the lion's share of it—both physical and emotional—since coming to know the Detective. He could never regret her, though, because along with that pain had come the most exquisite joy he'd ever known. And that's why Lucifer convinced himself that no matter what Lilith and her demons did to him, he would outlast the pain. He would continue to exist for the Detective. Because Lucifer knew that if he died, she would become expendable. Lilith would kill her.

Keeping the Detective alive was a simple goal. At the moment, it was all he could handle. He wanted to be able to fly off into a rage . . . to smash heads against walls . . . to end lives. Instead, he was injured and frail, which meant he could do none of those things. And as long as the Detective was nearby, he would remain that way.

At least, there was one silver lining amidst the entire pile of muck: his continued vulnerability meant that the Detective was all right. And although he also wished she weren't being held captive by a psychopath, it was some consolation to know that if he had decades of physical torture ahead of him, she wouldn't be far away. Had he possessed the fortitude, he might have summoned his wings and flown them both away from there. Unfortunately, his wings were no longer an option. Wings required strength and power. In his present state, he lacked both. Currently, he was little more than a pathetic sack of useless flesh.

Thoughts of his wings made him smile, though, although it was merely a tiny, upturned sliver that would hardly qualify as a smile under any other circumstances. Since learning the truth about him, the Detective had taken a liking to his wings. In fact, she'd been _very_ clear about her appreciation for them. And that, in and of itself, was rather ironic. For years, he'd kept them concealed from her for fear that she'd be horrified, and when she finally did see them, her reaction had been exactly the opposite. She'd seemed entranced by them, leaving him to wonder what might have happened if his wings had been the ones to "out" him instead of his Devil Face. Perhaps, her initial reaction might have been different.

"The Detective loves my wings," he slurred, only realizing he'd said it aloud after the thought had been spoken.

"What did you say?" one of his guards demanded. To Lucifer, he looked like nothing more than a wide, hazy blob.

"He's just talking jibberish," the other one muttered. "He's out of his head. See, he's already nodding off again."

Lucifer's head lolled to the side, and he closed his eyes. He lacked the energy to do little else. As he floated in and out of the conscious state, his mind rolled back to the last morning he'd spent with the Detective. She'd asked to see his wings. Her request had seemed innocent enough at the time. But then, he'd obliged, and the result had been unexpectedly sensual . . . . It was one of their last moments together_—_just before they'd gotten dressed and she'd walked away from him_—_and it meant everything to Lucifer. In fact, if Lilith tortured him for another fifty years, that memory would probably be the one to carry him through the entire ordeal.

"_Ah, here it is," Lucifer announced, sliding the book from the living room shelf and opening it to the title page. "A first edition of _Jane Eyre_ signed by the author herself."_

_From just behind him—so close that he could feel her breath against his shoulder blades—the Detective laughed. The sound was sexy and understated, just like her. "Well, you can understand why I might doubt you. It doesn't exactly seem like your kind of book."_

"_On the contrary, Detective. I enjoyed it very much, and the Brontë sisters were simply delightful—at least the two with whom I was acquainted were."_

"_I'm sure they were," she responded in an amused tone. _

"_No, no, not like that . . . . Well, not really . . . ."_

_When she pressed her cheek against his bare back and wrapped her arms around him from behind, he snapped the book shut and leaned into her. He even sighed. Their time together had _ _exceeded any hopes he'd ever had for them. Lucifer felt like a new man. A_ _ much stronger and better man. A man who was currently locked in the embrace of a woman whose wandering hands were making his abdominal muscles quiver._

_He couldn't see the Detective, but he knew that she was wearing his white dress shirt and nothing else. She'd buttoned precisely two buttons—the middle ones—to keep the shirt from falling off of her. Her hair was spilling wildly over one shoulder, and she had a relaxed glow about her that Lucifer found enticing and irresistible_ _—especially because he had been responsible for it._ _ Although they had just vacated his bed, Lucifer found that he already wanted her back there. His desire for the Detective was nearly insatiable, and if her present behavior was any indication of her stance on the subject, he suspected that she felt the same way._

_When she retracted her arms from around his waist, he wanted to protest. But then she began lightly dragging her fingertips across his shoulder blades, and he decided that he liked that just as well. Lucifer's eyes rolled backwards and he hummed like a cat being scratched behind the ears. He knew what she wanted from him. Or at least, he thought he did. _ _Still, he felt inclined to wait until she asked. After all, he'd been wrong before, and he didn't want any misunderstandings between them. He wanted to give her exactly what she desired and nothing that she didn't._

"_Lucifer, I want to see them," she whispered, lighting his skin on fire as she blazed a trail of kisses across his upper back._

_"See what? My wings?" he laughed, pretending that he hadn't already guessed her intentions. "You've seen them before, Detective."_

"_But that was only for a minute or so out on the balcony. You were leaving, and I wasn't really focused on them at the time. I want to really _look_ at them."_

"_Very well, then," he said, tossing the book aside as if it were a paperback copy of _Bridget Jones' Diary_. He was committed to giving her whatever she wanted, and since she seemed intent upon knowing every inch of him, he was determined to indulge her._

_He turned to face her, pressing a kiss to her forehead as he lightly guided her backwards with his hands on her shoulders. "If you want to see them, I'll need a wide berth."_

_She nodded, standing with her hands clasped in front of her while she waited for him to unfurl them._

_The request had been entirely hers. It was what she wanted, and she had communicated that clearly. Even so, Lucifer felt nervous about the unveiling. "All right. Here we go. Last chance to change your mind," he warned her, pausing to give her time to retract her request. _

_She only smiled and bobbed her head in encouragement, so he summoned his wings and waited._

_"Well, that's odd," he said, rolling his shoulders and glancing behind him when they failed to produce themselves. With an uneasy laugh, he explained, "_ _They can be obstinate little buggers when they want to be." _

_Lucifer closed his eyes in an attempt to regain control. In his mind, he heard Amenadiel rambling on about self-actualization, and he tried not to listen. He was well aware that his anxiety was responsible for keeping his wings tucked snugly into his back. ___His wings were an extension of him, and__ he__ was feeling apprehensive. Ergo, his wings were being skittish, as well. _He didn't need to hear an imagined version of Amenadiel's voice droning on about the matter. He just needed to push past his fear.  
_

"_Lucifer," she urged him. "They're a part of you, and I want to see them. I need to know every part of you."_

"_Are you sure, Detective?"_

"_I wouldn't have asked if I weren't sure."_

"_All right," he sighed. As soon as he accepted her assurance as the truth, his wings sprang forth, looking buoyant and pristine as always. "Voila," he announced._

_"That's more like it," she said as her eyes grew wide and her gaze travelled from one wing tip to the other. _

_"Take your time," he insisted. "I know it's a lot to process." He certainly didn't want her running away to Italy again._

_The Detective smiled and took a few tentative steps toward his left wing. "They're so soft and fluffy," she remarked, coming close enough to send a small flutter through a few of the looser feathers when she exhaled. "Like a bunny."_

_"No. No._ Not_ like a bunny," he protested in mock indignation. He could tell that she was teasing him, and he rather liked it. _

"_All right . . . a polar bear?"_

"_Certainly not."_

_She beamed at him. "Sorry," she laughed. "I didn't mean to _ruffle_ your feathers."_

"_Very funny, Detective. Like I've never heard _that _one before."_

_Sobering up, she returned her attention to his wings. "In all seriousness, Lucifer, I've never seen anything like them. They're incredible," she gushed. Glancing sideways, she locked eyes with him, and an understanding passed between them. There were no more secrets. Having her so close to a part of him that few humans had ever known was one of the most erotic experiences of his very long existence. He may have been wearing a pair of boxers, but he felt completely naked. _

"_Can I touch them?" she asked._

Dear Dad, yes_, his mind shouted at her, but thankfully, he was able to restrain the thought. Instead, he nodded stupidly and swallowed the growing lump in his throat._

_Her touch was timid and reverent. With the pads of her fingers, she gently stroked one feather and then another. Raising her hand to the highest point, she ran her index finger along the top of his wing as she slowly walked toward the outer edge. _

_A lesser angel might've moaned, but he somehow managed to keep it contained. He couldn't stop the tremor that rolled through him, though. With a dry chuckle, he asked, "Are you sure you've never done this before, Detective?"_

_She looked back at him just before she rounded the wing tip and disappeared behind his wing. "Nope. You're my first." _

_If he hadn't known that to be true, he might have questioned her veracity. She certainly didn't seem like a novice. _ _When she began to hum softly and brush both hands along the length of the primaries, he felt certain that he was going to come undone at any second._

_"Are they sensitive?" she asked as several feathers twitched in response to the unexpected warmth of her touch._

_"Yes, very," he responded, hoping she wouldn't interpret that as a request to stop._

_"Then, I'll try and be careful."_

_"Oh, they're not fragile," he informed her. "Just sensitive."_

_"Do they liked being touched?"_

_"By certain people, yes."_

_"Do they like being touched by me?" she asked, sounding both sweet and sinful. Having reached his back, she leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to the bare skin between his wings before continuing along the right side. As she walked, she caressed each feather. As she caressed each feather, Lucifer's knees gradually disintegrated beneath him._

_He swallowed. "Yes. They like you very much," he admitted. In fact, now that his wings were getting to know the Detective properly, he worried that they might like her a bit too much. "They're part of me, Detective, and you're a particular favorite of mine. Naturally, it makes sense that they would take a special interest in you, as well."_

_When she reappeared from behind his right wing, he offered her a feeble smile. _"_Well, what do you think?" he asked._

_"You're kidding, right?" She stared at him with a quizzical expression. "Lucifer, _ _I love them," she confessed in a tone that was both sultry and pure—the dichotomy that described her best now that he'd come to know all of her. Essentially good with a hint of something mildly wicked . . . . That's what she was. For Lucifer, it was a maddening combination and all the more reason why she was absolutely perfect for him. _

_As she walked toward him, touching and smoothing various points along his right wing with a mixture of curiosity and admiration, Lucifer knew she couldn't possibly be as aroused as he was by the experience. But then, she was suddenly standing in front of him, and he saw something unmistakable in her eyes. It was pure lust. He'd seen it may times and in many forms, but with others, he'd always known that it was manufactured—merely a byproduct of his natural charm. The Detective was immune to all of that, though, which meant that the passion he read on her face was wholly organic and genuine. Her pupils were wide and inky and the look she gave him was anything but innocent. There was no disparity between their wishes; they were on exactly the same page. _

_Swallowing seductively, she spoke his name in a voice that was clouded with desire._

_Lucifer required no further encouragement. "Say no_ _ more, Detective." He pressed her into the nearest surface, which turned out to be his piano. The impact of her body against the keys created a dissonant clank that sliced open the silence, and through a joint effort that may have lacked grace but not expediency, they relocated themselves to the top of the piano. As he hovered over her, he granted himself a moment to appreciate the tender look in her eyes and the fan of her hair across the polished black surface of the piano. And then he_ _ curled his wings around them, creating a secluded hollow where only they existed._

"_Mmm," she hummed appreciatively, wrapping her legs around his waist like a vise and pulling him down on top of her. _

_"You're not impatient are you, Detective?" he teased her. "I take it you're a fan of my wings."_

_"Yeah. I'm a fan," she said, sounding breathless, "in case you hadn't noticed." _

Lucifer groaned quietly, readjusting his left wrist. It was starting to sting. The ropes were wearing trenches through the skin around his wrists, and that small movement caused him to wince. He tried not to make too much noise or draw attention to himself. If the demons thought he was unconscious, they'd let him be and hopefully, he'd have time to recover before they subjected him to another round of torture. Without opening his eyes, his ears clued him in to the fact that there were at least two others in the room with him.

"Have you fed her today?" one of the demons was asking another.

"Not yet. Won't do much good anyway with her refusing to eat."

"When she's hungry, she'll eat. Humans are weak like that. And besides, you don't want Lilith finding out you haven't been giving her food. She won't like it."

"Who said I wasn't giving her food?" the second demon grumbled. "I just meant that there was no need to rush. She says she won't eat until we let her see him."

"See that she gets water, as well. According to Lilith, humans require it."

"I will," the second demon muttered. "Not that it'll make a difference."

"You have to make her eat! You've been torturing human souls for hundreds of years, and you're trying to tell me that one tiny female with a stubborn streak has bested you, Spiros?"

"No, not exactly . . . ."

"I'll take care of this," the first demon barked, stomping out of the room at the speed of a bat on the hunt. "She _will _eat."

Lucifer's head drooped against his chest. Strangely enough, he found himself aligned with the demons. The Detective needed to maintain her strength. If what they'd said was true, she was depriving herself because she wanted to see him, and he wasn't worth that.

He might be a lost cause, but she didn't have to be. The Detective was smart and resourceful. At some point, an opportunity to escape would present itself. And when it did, he wanted her to take advantage of it. To save herself, she was going to have to leave him behind. If he could see her, he'd tell her that. There was no happy ending in the cards for the two of them. There never had been. They'd only been prolonging the inevitable.

* * *

When the lock clicked and the door swung in, Chloe didn't bother to look at her jailer. An aluminum pan clattered as it hit the floor, and some meat that might have been beef bounced out and rolled away from the plate. "Eat!" the demon roared at Chloe, and she flinched. She hoped he hadn't noticed. It would only bolster his confidence.

Chloe shrugged, shifting so that she could see which one of Lilith's subjects was losing his patience with her. It was Dumpy Suit. She was surprised he'd lasted as long as he had. During the time she'd been held captive, Lilith had killed off at least five of her demons during her periodic bursts of anger. She'd gotten rid of Clem for being impertinent. Lululemon had been killed for facilitating Chloe's escape. And just that morning, Ma Kettle had met a particularly gruesome end out in the hallway—death by flogging for some minor inefficiency that angered Lilith.

"I'm not hungry," she told Dumpy Suit and closed her eyes again.

"It doesn't matter! You'll eat because if you don't, you'll die. We have to keep you strong and alive so that we can continue to break him. It's Lilith's orders, and by now, you should know that some tiny, insignificant human isn't going to keep us from doing what we have to do to please our Queen."

"Your _Queen_?" Chloe echoed in a raspy voice. Her lip curled up involuntarily. "Well, you may want to please her, but I don't care."

"_Eat!_" Dumpy Suit insisted. "We need you strong so that we can keep him weak."

"If that's the case," Chloe muttered, "then, I definitely won't be eating."

"If you don't eat, we'll tell Lilith. She doesn't take kindly to petty concerns like this. I can assure you that she won't be pleased."

"Tell her. Like I said, I don't care. If she's displeased with me, she'll be even more displeased with you. You're nothing but a pawn to her. An _expendable_ pawn. How many of your friends has she killed so far?"

"Eat this food now," he yelled, kicking the meat with his shoe.

"Let me see Lucifer. You know that's what I want."

"You're not in a position to bargain with us." He sneered. "I'll be back, and that plate had better be empty."

"Don't count on it," she told him.

The door slammed, and she was alone again. More than anything, she knew that she needed to see Lucifer. She had to tell him not to lose hope. They would get out. Or at least, she hoped they would. And when they left, they'd be together because she had no intention of leaving him behind.

Her plan was murky, at best. There was a goal—escape, obviously—but the part that preceded it was unclear to her. Getting to Lucifer was the first step. The second step was a bit of an unknown. She patted her boot. The shiv was still securely tucked between the leather and her sock. She was waiting for the right time to use it; patience was key. If she made a wrong move, they'd disarm her, and the shiv would be gone.

Crawling across the room, she lifted several carrots and a small amount of spaghetti noodles from the plate. She didn't know who was responsible for putting together the meals she'd been offered, but it was obviously not a human. Baby carrots, spaghetti noodles (with no sauce), a dinner roll and a rubbery-looking piece of meat . . . . Even a low-end fry cook would be appalled.

Chloe was hungry—_very_ hungry—but as much as she would have the demons believe it, she wasn't starving. She stuffed her mouth with the carrots and noodles, trying not to get greedy. As she savored the last of her food ration, she lifted a mop bucket from the corner to reveal two bottles of water that she'd hoarded from prior meals—before the guards had been paying attention. One of the bottles was three quarters gone, but the other one was still full. Taking a few gulps of the water, she screwed on the cap again and replaced the mop bucket.

With quite a bit of precision, she began to rearrange the contents of the plate so that no one would know she'd eaten anything. She considered moving the meat back onto the plate but decided to leave it where it had fallen. She didn't want to give the impression that she'd even touched the food. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she crawled over to the wall and leaned against it to wait.

Chloe had no intention of starving herself to death, but the demons didn't need to know that. Her options were certainly limited, but she'd already decided that this was the clearest path to getting in to see Lucifer. If it meant depriving herself of a full belly and raising the stakes with Lilith, she would absolutely do whatever she had to do.


	13. Chapter 13

"You have to _eat_!" Dumpy Suit roared, but Chloe didn't flinch. She didn't even open her eyes. She allowed her head to loll to the right for effect. She felt weak, but she was more alert than her captors realized. And the adrenaline pulsing through her was certainly helping with that, too. "If you don't eat this food, I'm going to tell Lilith," he persisted. "She'll be furious about the situation."

"Haven't we been through this already?" Chloe mumbled through lips that were dry and cracked. She opened her eyes and glared at Dumpy Suit. "Do you think she'll be furious at me or at you?"

"At you! You're the one who's not eating."

"I'm sure you realize that's not true. Otherwise, you would've told her I wasn't eating long before now. But instead, you're bluffing . . . because you're _scared_. It's been days since I've had anything to eat, and you don't want to be the one to tell her that. You're hoping I'll start eating again, rendering any explanations unnecessary."

"You don't know what you're talking about," he grunted. "Just eat."

"I don't think so," she said. "And if you're expecting that I'll suddenly change my mind, I can assure you that I won't. You might as well tell Lilith when she gets back from wherever she's gone because I'm growing weaker with every day that passes. Every day that you delay only means that her anger towards you will grow exponentially. And speaking of Lilith, where is she?"

"She's out. Busy. Doing whatever suits her fancy. Not that it's any of your business."

"Well, hopefully, she's out finding some reinforcements. Your numbers seem to be dwindling. Seems like it's just you, Bear Paws and that big guy in plaid. I guess I can understand why they're all leaving. She's out enjoying herself while you're stuck in here guarding Lucifer and me. Seems pretty obvious who has the sweetest gig." Although it served as both, the statement was more of an observation than a provocation. As time passed and Lilith stayed away for longer intervals, her demons were gradually defecting. The prior day, Lilith had returned from her exploits to find that two more had disappeared, and her rage had been palpable.

"You shut up!" he shouted. "I won't let some crazy human get into my head."

Chloe sighed. Subtlety was getting her nowhere, and in the meantime, she might actually die of starvation and dehydration. She was down to half a bottle of water. Waiting for Lilith's demon clowns to inform their leader that she wasn't eating was taking too long. "I want to see Lucifer," Chloe demanded through clenched teeth.

"I want a lot of things—for example, not being forced to play nanny to a thick-headed human with a death wish."

"Take me to Lucifer," Chloe repeated. "Or I'll remove myself from the equation and let the chips fall where they may."

"You're not in a position to make demands like that. Lilith doesn't grant an audience to just anyone."

"Tell her I'm starving. Tell her I want to see her. I guarantee you she'll grant me an audience."

"No more talking. Just eat," he ordered, backing out the door and slamming it with enough force to rattle the metal frame.

Hopefully, she'd made her point. Now, all she could do was wait.

Chloe dozed off for a few seconds or a few hours—she had no way of measuring it and she hardly needed to anyway. She awakened to a sharp kick against her calf. She groaned, opening her eyes slowly to discover that the blow had been exacted by the sharp end of a red patent leather pump.

"Nice shoes, Lilith," she said with a lazy smirk, closing her eyes again and letting her head relax against the wall. "Very 'trash can chic.'"

Two more sharp pangs told her that Lilith was not amused. "Open your eyes, Detective Decker. Show some respect."

"Respect is earned."

"Open your eyes this instant." Lilith issued the command in a clipped staccato.

With no real sense of urgency, Chloe raised her eyelids until she was staring up into Lilith's sharp angular face. "You cut your hair," Chloe noted. "A bob is definitely an _interesting_ choice for someone with your bone structure."

"That's enough," Lilith told her, fluffing her hair with the palm of one hand. "My demons tell me that you're not eating or drinking."

Chloe nodded. "They're right. I'm not."

"Well, it's unacceptable."

"Did your demons also tell you how long it's been since I've had anything to eat? And did they happen to mention that they've been keeping this information from you for days? I would've expected you to run a tighter ship than that."

"That's none of your concern."

"You're human," Chloe continued, adding, "sort of. As such, I wonder if you recall how long the body can go without food and water before it starts to shut down. As far as food goes, it can take a while. But the water . . . now that's a different story. Without water, the body doesn't last very long."

"I don't need a science lesson, Detective Decker. I'm well aware that without the proper sustenance, your body will cease to function, which is why we've been providing adequate food and water. Otherwise, I'd just as soon see you go without."

"And I'd just as soon starve myself. If you think I'm going to be another one of your pawns, you're mistaken, Lilith."

"So that's what you have in mind? Starving yourself to death?"

"Seems as good as any other plan. I don't really have a lot of options here. Until you let me see Lucifer, I won't eat or drink anything."

"I should probably explain to you what will happen if you die," Lilith said in a tone that clearly communicated how unhappy she was about having to lay it our for Chloe. "You should know that we'll be forced to kill Lucifer before he regains his strength. He'll become too much of a liability. His death will be quick and painful. So just know this . . . if _you _die, so will _he_."

"But that's not your best option," Chloe reminded her. "You'd rather keep him alive and vulnerable. It's the easiest route for you."

"What game are you playing, Detective Decker?"

"A simple one, actually. I want to see Lucifer. That's all. And if you don't take me to him, I'll continue to refuse all food and water. I don't want him to die, but you appear to be forcing my hand. And in the end, we'll both be better off anyway." A more compassionate person would have recognized that Chloe could never let herself die if it meant Lucifer would also become expendable. But Lilith lacked not only compassion but also empathy; she was deficient in her understanding of the basic human concept. She was incapable of calling Chloe's bluff.

Lilith folded her arms. "Do you really think you can bargain with me?"

"Yes. Because I think you're shrewd enough to see that it's in your best interest to give me what I want. All I'm asking is that you let me see Lucifer."

"I don't believe you. I don't think you'd actually starve yourself. You don't have it in you. You'd never let yourself die."

"I do, and I will. Don't test me, Lilith. I don't want to die, but at the moment, I have nothing else going for me except a dark, uncomfortable room and the prospect of being stuck in here for the rest of my natural life. All the while, the man I love is being tortured by your lackeys. So, no. I won't eat. I won't drink. I'll slowly waste away and die. And all you have to do to prevent that is let me see Lucifer. Give me something to make it worth my while."

"Hmmm . . . you're a surprisingly formidable adversary—for a human," Lilith noted. "It's a trait I value. Strength in a woman is always admirable. And also a bit of a turn on, if we're being honest. I don't suppose your tastes swing in that direction, do they?"

"You can't honestly be coming on to me," Chloe said, letting out a long, low chuckle.

"Well, you may change your mind at some point," Lilith concluded. "Desperate times and all that . . . . In the meantime, I'll consider your request."

* * *

Two more days passed, and despite the small amount of skimming she was doing, Chloe was beginning to grow weaker. Now that Lilith was definitely paying attention, she'd reduced her ration to virtually nothing. And the water was almost gone. Although her energy reserves weren't entirely depleted, she preferred not to waste what was left, so she lay motionless on the floor, taking deep, even breaths and waiting for a thing that might never occur.

Lilith was testing her resolve. Chloe was sure of it.

When Bear Paws appeared for the second time that day and kicked a plate of food across the floor in her direction, Chloe tried not to pounce on it immediately.

"Eat," he growled.

"No."

"Suit yourself."

"What suits me is to die if I can't see Lucifer," she said, forcing herself up on her elbows. "You tell Lilith that. And when you tell her, remind her that Lucifer's death is not a certainty. She may not be able to beat him. He could still gain the upper hand. The gamble isn't worth it to her."

He shrugged his shoulders and flung a bottle of water in Chloe's direction. It hit the wall and rolled back to the center of the room.

When he was gone again, Chloe scrabbled over to the plate he'd shoved into the room. Urging herself to go slowly, she broke off a few crumbs of the bread and some unobtrusive pieces of a congealed mass of potted meat. It wasn't enough that they would notice, but she hoped it was sufficient to keep her alive. Examining the plate carefully, she rearranged some of the green beans to cover the sides of the meat and lay back on the ground again.

That night, as she rested on the hard, dirty floor with an empty stomach, she began to acknowledge that her plan wasn't working. Lilith was stubbornly calling her bluff. Lilith was winning, Chloe conceded, feeling her senses dull as a new hopelessness rolled over her. And with every wasted moment, she worried about what was happening to Lucifer. How much torture was he being forced to endure for the sake of keeping him weak and under control?

But then, as it so often does, fate seemed to swing the tides in their direction and something happened that gave rise to hope. The demon called Spiros left, and with no immediate replacements, only two guards remained.

* * *

Chloe lay quietly in the dark room, waiting for her meal to arrive. That morning she'd eaten more than usual, hoping to bolster her strength. Dumpy Suit and Bear Paws were the only two demons left. Lilith had gone out to find replacements. Her return would bring the necessary reinforcements, but for the time being, Chloe had a very small window of opportunity.

She pulled out the shiv and examined it. The entire piece was no larger than a ball point pen. But the wooden handle was sturdy and the blade was as sharp as an ice pick. Forming a tight grip around the handle, she experimented with various jabs and punches. She'd watched Maze hacking away at her training mannequin, and she tried mirroring her technique. When she was finally satisfied, she tucked her fist behind her back and waited.

Not ten minutes passed before the door swung open and the usual swath of light extended across the room. Refusing to acknowledge the demon, she kept her eyes partially shuttered and her breathing shallow and even.

"Sit up," Bear Paws snarled. When she didn't comply, he kicked her in the side. "Hey, get up. Food's here."

Chloe lay motionless on the floor, following his movements as best she could through her lashes. Finally, he dropped her plate to the ground and crouched beside her.

"Hey, wake up," he said, reaching out and shaking her shoulder.

His thick neck was fully exposed, and Chloe saw that as her best chance to take him out. She swung her right arm forward and planted the shiv in his jugular. He didn't cry out in pain as a normal human might have done, but as the wound spurted blood, he did seem stunned and confused. And furious—he also seemed furious. His wide, angry mouth flexed into a rigid line. "You'll pay for that, Bitch," he snarled as he drove his fist into her jaw.

The pain devoured her. She had to push through it, though, or he would gain the upper hand. Bearing in mind what Lucifer had once told her about using a "little extra muscle," she retracted the shiv and plunged it into his neck again. And again. Bear Paws staggered backwards and fell onto his back, holding his neck to stanch the bleeding. The entire encounter rushed by like a scene from a cheesy horror movie. While he was down, Chloe pushed herself to her feet and kicked him in the side of the head. _Hard_. Bear Paws stopped writhing. The kick had caused him to lose consciousness. Or he was dead. She didn't know which one and she didn't care.

Chloe rushed forward and for the final time, she ripped the shiv out of his neck and ran out into the hallway, where she almost immediately encountered Dumpy Suit. He was unarmed, unprepared and clearly surprised to find her outside of the meat locker. It had worked with Bear Paws, so again, she aimed the shiv and sank it into the veins of his neck before he could bat her away. Using her knee, she startled him with a sharp upper cut to the groin and pushed him backwards into the wall. As he reached up to his neck and felt the wound, Chloe squared off and prepared for a fight.

With wild eyes, he took a shaky step toward her. This was it. The was the final barrier between her and Lucifer. Chloe had to take him out of the equation.

"Your friend's dead," she ground out, brandishing the shiv and preparing to lunge at him. "You're next."

"_I'm done,_" he sputtered, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Done being belittled for my efforts . . . done playing nurse maid to some jibbering human so that Lilith can go off and enjoy herself . . . done spending every hour of every day in some dark, disgusting building . . . . I'm done with _all_ of it. There's gotta' be more to this world than _this_."

Instead of attacking, as Chloe had originally expected him to do, he spun around and ran toward the exit. Chloe held her stance until she heard the door smack closed behind him, and then she slouched against the wall. She was alone.

* * *

"_Lucifer_," Chloe cried out as she rushed across the room to him. His eyes were closed, and his chin dangled limply against his chest. His face was an artless smattering of bruises and dried patches of blood. His shirt had been torn and left hanging in shreds, revealing large bloody gashes along his sides, arms and shoulders.

Chloe choked back a whimper. "Lucifer. Lucifer, can you hear me?" she pleaded, reaching toward him with both hands before abruptly stopping herself just shy of making contact. She didn't know how to touch him without causing pain, so instead, her hands trembled uselessly in the air. When finally, she managed to locate a small scrap of unblemished skin, she reached out with tentative fingers and brushed her hand along his jaw and down the side of his neck. The area was streaked with dirt and grime but was otherwise free of any actual punctures or abrasions.

That lone strip of skin proved to be the exception. Her eyes ping-ponged around in a feverish exploration as she inspected every inch of him, finding almost no space that hadn't been mangled or mutilated. Only when she pressed her hand to his chest and detected a faint heart beat did she derive a measure of relief. He was alive. "Lucifer, _please. _You have to wake up."

In response, his head seemed to move of its own volition, as if it were following the sound of her voice.

"Lucifer, it's me," she breathed in desperation, cupping his cheek in her hand. "I need your help." She wasn't even sure that he could understand her, although on some level, he seemed capable of acknowledging her voice. She did know that if he could respond, he would. Lucifer would never deny her anything.

When he pressed his face into her hand, her pulse quickened. "That's good. That's really good," she sobbed. "Lucifer, I need you to fight through this. Only for a little while. We have to get out of here before Lilith comes back. She doesn't get to win this. She's not important enough."

Slowly, and with obvious pain, Lucifer opened his eyes. They were sunken and bloodshot. And worse still was the hopelessness that she saw when he looked at her.

"D'tective, you're a'right." His words were garbled and strained, and yet, she was still able to read the relief in his tone.

"Lucifer," Chloe murmured, pushing her body forward until their foreheads touched. Determined not to inflict any additional pain, she wove her fingers lightly through his hair, holding him there with her and silently begging him to stay present. "Everything's going to be fine. I'm going to get you down from there."

"You have to go," he wheezed. "Leave me. Find a way to escape."

"No, Lucifer. You don't understand. Things have changed," she insisted. "Until Lilith comes back, it's just you and me. We're getting out of here. _Together_. But we have to hurry."

Lucifer's eyes closed. He was gone again. "No, no, no," she begged, and the tears began to fall involuntarily. She could never carry him out of there unless he was awake and able to help her. "Stay with me. _Please_, Lucifer. I need your help."

Crumbling to the ground at his feet, Chloe dropped her head into her hands. And she did something she'd rarely done in her life. She prayed. _Please help him_, _please help him, please help him, _she silently chanted as the tears leaked through her fingers.

"Detective." Lucifer's voice—replete with weariness and defeat—whispered to her from above. She dropped her hands and stood up in an instant. He was searching for her, and as soon as she appeared in front of him, he met her gaze. His eyes were tired, but in them, she saw what she needed to see. He was conscious and alert. His breathing was steadier, and she could detect the noticeable rise and fall of his chest as he gritted through the pain associated with wakefulness.

"We have to go now," she urged him, leaning up on her toes to inspect the ropes around his wrists. Her hands shook as she worked at one of the knots. "Lilith will be back with more demons soon. I'm going to get you down, and then I'll need you to try and walk. You can—"

"Time's up," Lilith sang out from across the room. As Chloe glanced over her shoulder, she saw a line of heavy-set mongrels filing in through the door. "I'm _back_. And just in time, it seems. You've been busy, haven't you?"

"I'm not leaving him," Chloe fired back at Lilith, continuing to work at the ropes. "You'll have to kill me."

"Detective, do what she says," Lucifer implored her. "If you don't, she'll hurt you. You have the child to think about."

"Lucifer's right," Lilith laughed. "You should listen to him. I know he's not much to look at these days, but apparently, he's not a total loss. _Yet."_

"No, Lucifer. I'm not leaving. I _won't__,_" Chloe stammered, sounding more desperate with each denial. "I won't let them hurt you anymore. Either way, she's never letting me go. I'm never seeing Trixie ag—" The thought faded abruptly when Chloe noticed that she no longer had Lucifer's attention. Instead, he stared across the room, looking at nothing in particular, and the expression on his face had morphed into one of deep concentration mingled with an unusual serenity. Something was happening, and Chloe didn't dare disturb him. She was afraid.

"_Now_," Lilith shouted at her demons. "Take her away _now_. Get her out of here!"

"Lucifer, what's happening?" Chloe dared to ask, but she received no answer.

From behind, Chloe felt a large hand clamp down onto her shoulder. It wrenched her backwards with a bumbling intensity. She prepared to fight her attacker, all the while realizing that even if she defeated him, Lilith would send in demon after demon until she submitted.

But then, the demon's hand froze on her shoulder and fell away. And he whimpered.

Chloe was aware of a change in the air. It was as if someone had torn away the roof, allowing a cool breeze to rush through the building. Air that had been stifling and oppressive only seconds before suddenly seemed fresh and breathable. Chloe spun to face the center of the room, turning her back on Lucifer as she sought out the source of the disturbance.

What she saw confused and shocked her, and she backed up slowly with her arms outstretched, hoping to shield Lucifer from the threat. "Don't hurt him," she pleaded, eyeing the newcomers warily and shaking her head.

With uncertainty and fear shrieking at her like a table saw, Chloe tried to blot out everything in front of her. She told herself to remain calm. But it wasn't what she saw so much as Lilith's petrified screams that unseated her.

As Chloe leaned back against Lucifer's battered chest, she shrank into him and closed her eyes.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! Next up, there will be an Epilogue to properly wrap up everything. I post weekly, so that should be updated next Monday night. :)

"Detective, you have no reason to be afraid," Lucifer whispered against her ear. Clearly, his tone was intended to soothe, and to some extent, it was successful. Even still, in much the same way that an animal freezes when it senses danger nearby, Chloe's body remained rigid and taut. "It's all right," Lucifer insisted quietly, only slurring every third word now. "Chloe, listen to me. I assure you, there's nothing to fear. I promise. And you know I would never lie to you."

"Are they here to hurt you?" she hissed, chancing a hurried look at Lucifer over her shoulder. Her arms were still thrown out on either side of her body in an attempt to shield him from danger.

"No," he assured her. "At least, I don't think so. Come now, Detective," he said, nudging her with his body. "Amenadiel is among them. Surely you don't consider _him_ a threat."

For Chloe, that was reminder enough. She did trust Amenadiel, and so, as he nodded at her from across the room, some of the tightness in her shoulders uncoiled and she allowed her arms to drop to her sides.

"Who are the others?" she asked Lucifer, noting a male dressed in full battle armor, a scowling female who looked like an escapee from a Renaissance Fair and their slightly less austere companion.

"It's Jegudiel, Remuel and Azrael—a few of my other siblings."

"_Lilith_," the one called Jegudiel bellowed, beckoning Chloe's captor toward him with an outstretched hand. "Come forward."

Lilith eyed the doorway, no doubt wondering if there was a possibility of escape. The door was surrounded by a handful of cowering, open-mouthed demons, all of whom were probably wondering the same thing Lilith was.

"Don't try to run from us," Azrael advised them. "You won't get far, and your actions will only make things worse for you."

Amenadiel shook his head, walking slowly toward Lilith. "Lilith, what were you thinking? Lucifer's an _angel_," he reprimanded the trembling shell of a woman standing before him. "You didn't actually think you'd get away with this, did you?"

Her silence answered him clearly enough—she had absolutely thought she could get away with it. "I had every reason to believe that I'd succeed," she contended in a high-pitched, nasal tone. "To my knowledge, no one has ever rushed to Lucifer's side before, and he's been in dire straits many times. As a family, you've always been a fair-weather bunch."

"That's a mere matter of perception," Jegudiel shouted in a voice that could rival thunder. Having just begun to relax, Chloe flattened herself against Lucifer once again, not fully trusting the wrath of this angel she didn't know—an angel who had never before shown an interest in rendering assistance to Lucifer. On that score, Lilith certainly had a point.

"Your limited powers of understanding have done you a disservice," Remuel told Lilith, flinging the words at her with a frosty intensity. "They've permitted you to make unwise choices—choices for which you will now pay dearly."

"But wh-why would you come n-now? And en masse?" Lilith stammered. "You're divine beings. You knew what was happening, and yet you stood by and allowed your brother to face considerable abuse at the hands of my demons. You're just as culpable as I am—possibly more so."

"We are_ not _the same," Jegudiel boomed, aiming his staff at her. Instantly, Lilith dropped to her knees. Her shoulders and hands shook violently. "You will submit."

"Jegudiel," Amenadiel said calmly, holding up the palms of his hands in a gesture of peace. "Anger is beneath you."

"Ever the peacemaker," Lucifer muttered. Chloe turned to look at him, and he added, "Relax, Detective. If anyone is capable of instilling order in the room, it's Amenadiel."

"In answer to your question," Amenadiel said to Lilith, "we came because Lucifer called us."

"Brother, we owe her no explanations," Remuel interjected sharply, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes at no one and everyone all at once.

Amenadiel sighed. "That may be true, Remy, but these demons—and the one who raised them—have committed countless atrocities. They must be made to understand that their actions have consequences. They need to see that this type of behavior—these insurrections—will not be tolerated. Father is insistent. This _must not_ happen again."

Lilith raised her head to look at Amenadiel. "Lucifer called you?" she spat. "He'd never do that. And even if he did, I find it difficult to believe that anyone from _your_ family would answer the call. You've spurned Lucifer for thousands of years."

"This is the first time he's ever _asked_ for help—at least the first time he asked and truly meant it."

"Why now?" Lilith demanded.

"I imagine he did it for Chloe. He was trying to protect her."

Chloe surveyed Lucifer's eyes, seeking a certainty she didn't quite possess. "You called them?"

"You needed help, Detective. It was the only thing I could do to ensure your safety," he told her, nodding solemnly and then instantly wincing from the effort. "If it were only me, I wouldn't have bothered. But you were in danger, and I knew you'd never leave me. Calling them was the only way."

"Lucifer, do you mean that this entire time, you could have simply called your brothers and sisters? Are you saying that all of the torture you endured was completely unnecessary?" she asked, shaking her head in disbelief.

"They've certainly never come before when I've summoned them," he said. "Well, there was that one time Dad resurrected me so that I could save you from Malcolm . . . . But it only happened the one time. I can assure you, when I reached out to them today, I had no expectation of receiving an actual response to my request. Our circumstances were most dire, though, so it seemed like it was worth a shot. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, or so the saying goes . . . ."

"Amenadiel said you never truly meant it before. That must be the difference," Chloe concluded.

"Now, for your penance," Jegudiel proclaimed loudly, drawing the attention of the entire room as he addressed Lilith and her demons.

Lucifer rolled his eyes. "Jegudiel loves exacting a punishment. Most of the time, he's little more than an overstuffed G.I. Joe, but in a case like this, he's not the worst angel to have in your corner. Especially because, as you can see," he added, wiggling his fingers and wincing, "my hands are tied."

"Here, let me help you," Chloe said immediately. The realization that they were safe—that they would be free—was only just beginning to sink in. With frantic fingers, she reached out to untether Lucifer's hands.

When the last restraint had been removed, Lucifer slumped against her. "Easy does it, Detective," he instructed her. "As a consequence of my recent torture, I'm afraid I'm a bit frail."

Chloe could hardly bear his weight. The two of them slid slowly down the wall until they landed in an exhausted heap on the floor. Now that the cavalry had arrived, no one seemed to notice or care what they were doing. All focus had shifted to Lilith and her demons.

"_You,"_ Jegudiel charged the demons, aiming his staff at each of them in turn, "you have defied Lucifer's orders by leaving Hell. Humans were killed so that you could possess their bodies. You will be punished."

Remuel came to stand just over Jegudiel's shoulder. "Brother, we should end their existence. They deserve no better."

"I couldn't agree more," Jegudiel said. To the demons, he announced, "It is Father's will that you be set apart as an example for all others who might try to follow your path. You will die. That is the only way we can be certain that you will never again cause the sort of harm you've inflicted here."

"It's what I should have done to Dromos," Lucifer whispered. "Not ending his life was a gross miscalculation on my part."

"You didn't know," Chloe said, rubbing his upper arm gently. He flinched, and she realized she'd hurt him. "Lucifer, we need to get you out of here—and away from me so that you can heal."

"Not yet," he told her, focused intently on what his brother was doing. "If you're going to attend the fireworks show, you have to stay for the grand finale."

Jegudiel drew his staff through the air in an arc. With a tiny snap of his wrist, the human bodies inhabited by their demon hosts fell lifelessly to the ground.

"And now for _you_," he said, sneering at Lilith. "Death would be far too kind. For you, we have something else in mind."

In an instant, thick iron cuffs appeared on Lilith's wrists and ankles. She thrashed about, and the cuffs began to glow like embers in a fire that's just been stoked.

"I wouldn't do that," Jegudiel said, wagging his staff at her. "They only burn hotter and grow tighter with each attempt to remove them. And if you fail to abide by the rules of your new existence, they'll also ensure that you're punished accordingly."

"Wh-what is my new existence?" Lilith stammered, examining the cuffs with an expression of great horror. "What does all of this mean?"

"Please, can I tell her, Brother?" Remuel asked.

Raising his chin in a lofty display of angelic pride, Jegudiel said, "_I _will tell her." As he addressed Lilith, he explained, "Your new purpose is a singular one. You have one task assigned to you, and that is all. And you should always bear in mind that if you misbehave in any way, we will know. You will face consequences, and they _will not_ be pleasant."

"Fine. What is it?" Lilith snapped. "What is my _new _purpose?"

"Welcome to your coronation," Jegudiel announced, pausing for effect. With a self-satisfied smile, he scanned the room, apparently intent upon milking every last drop of drama from the situation.

"Just get on with it," Lucifer groaned.

Jegudiel cleared his throat and prepared to continue. "Henceforth, you will have a new title. Lilith of the Lilim . . . you're the new ruler of Hell."

Defying all physical infirmities, Lucifer sat up straight and made an attempt at standing, but Chloe held him back. "What are you saying, Brother?" he demanded, summoning enough authority that he drew the instant attention of Jegudiel. "If I'm to be relieved of my position, I'd appreciate the courtesy of an explanation."

"Just wait, Lucifer, and you will hear the entirety of it," Jegudiel assured him.

Chloe rested a hand on Lucifer's arm, not wanting him to overexert himself when he was so weak. "Hear him out, Lucifer."

"Always the voice of reason, Detective," he sighed. "Fine. I'm willing to wait, Jegudiel, but you really do need to get on with it. Your flare for the dramatic has outlived the extent of my patience."

Jegudiel appeared to ignore Lucifer's complaints as he turned back to Lilith. "Now, where was I?" he asked the room at large.

"You'd just delivered the good news to Lilith," Remuel reminded him. "She didn't take it well."

"My question was mostly rhetorical," he sniffed, "but thank you for paying attention, Remuel."

"Why me?" Lilith cried out. "Why would I want that job?"

"It's not so much a job as an assignment," Jegudiel told her. "You've certainly earned it, and you're perfect in so much as many of the demons who will be serving you are your offspring."

"I care n-nothing for them. I don't even want to be near them. Besides," she added desperately, "I-I'm not e-even an angel. You have to be an angel to rule Hell."

"As it turns out, that's not entirely correct," Jegudiel informed her.

"You have to be whatever Father says you have to be," Amenadiel interjected, earning him a look of displeasure from Jegudiel, who evidently did not care for interruptions.

"It appears that what we have is a loophole," Jegudiel said. "You're neither an angel nor a demon. You're also not purely human. You're something in between, which makes you perfect for this assignment."

Like a woman who's suddenly gone mad, Lilith shook her head in a fitful display of defiance. "No. No. I don't want it," she insisted, banging her wrists against the ground until the cuffs began to glow.

"Watch yourself, Lilith. That could become very painful if you let it get out of hand," Azrael warned her.

"Step out of line," Jegudiel said, "and those cuffs will become true torture devices. You'll feel as if you're being incinerated. Death would be your only reprieve, and of course, we won't let that happen."

"Take them off. Take them off," Lilith insisted, shaking the cuffs in the air. "They're _burning _me."

"If you calm down, the pain will eventually recede," Azrael supplied. When Lilith continued to fight against the cuffs, Azrael shrugged. "Sometimes you've gotta' learn your lesson the hard way."

"Oh, and at some point," Jegudiel added, "it will probably occur to you to slice off an appendage to rid yourself of your shackles. Don't bother. They will only reappear. I designed them myself, and I can assure you that they're infallible."

"So there will be no more escaping to Earth or anywhere else," Amenadiel told Lilith. "And you should also know that we'll be monitoring you very closely."

"I don't want this," Lilith sniveled. "_I don't want it!_"

Amenadiel regarded her with a serene smile. "Your wishes are inconsequential. It's an earned position, Lilith. Your insubordination has brought this upon you. And at any rate, it was time for a change, so maybe we should be thanking you for your good timing."

"It's time for you to go," Remuel announced to Lilith. "Azrael and I will accompany you back to Hell."

"We'll even offer some on-the-job training," Azrael added, dragging a whimpering Lilith to her feet and slapping her on the back with enough force to send her stumbling forward.

Turning to Lucifer, Remuel nodded with all the intimacy of a fifth cousin twice removed. "It was nice to see you, Brother."

Azrael waved and offered him a sheepish smile as she followed the other two out of the room. "Catch ya' on the flip side, Lu," she said. "I'll pop in for a visit soon."

"Father will be pleased to learn that everything has been managed," Jegudiel crowed.

"But what about the tear?" Lucifer reminded him. "Has that been addressed?"

"Never you mind, Brother," Jegudiel informed him. "Azrael has already mended it."

"That's all well and good, but how do we know that it won't happen again?"

"I'll leave Amenadiel to explain our theories about that," Jegudiel said. "But needless to say, we don't think it will be a recurring problem." Surveying the empty room around him, he nodded. "Everything evolved quite nicely here. We've managed to squash a demon insurrection, and we've solved our ongoing conundrum as to who should be charged with babysitting the sinners. It's all very tidy."

"And by 'quite nicely' and 'very tidy,' you are, of course, referring to the countless days of mistreatment and torture that the Detective and I endured at the hands of a preening madwoman?" Lucifer said. There was no mistaking the bitterness and anger in his voice. Chloe felt grateful that Lucifer didn't have the physical strength to exact a blow upon his brother and that as a consequence of his diminished capacity, Lucifer's indignation was limited to a mere verbal critique of his brother's insouciance.

"Ah, yes," Jegudiel conceded. "Admittedly, things went a bit awry there. We would have stepped in sooner, but as Amenadiel told you earlier, you had to request our intercession. It was Father's only stipulation."

"Never, in the history of existence, has there been a family more dysfunctional than ours," Lucifer determined, leaning his head against the wall and closing his eyes.

"And now, I should be on my way," Jegudiel decided. "My return to the Silver City is long overdue, and Father will undoubtedly want to dispatch me on a new assignment with all due haste. In fact, I'm surprised I haven't been summoned back already. Lucifer, I'll convey your good wishes to Father." After executing a perfunctory bow, he, too, followed the route his sisters had taken.

"How is it that the size of his ego manages to be in exact disproportion to his self-awareness?" Lucifer wondered aloud.

"Jegudiel has always been too puffed up for his own good," Amenadiel agreed. "But it was good of him to come, nonetheless."

"With that being said, if another thousand years passes until we cross paths again, it won't be too soon."

"We should get you home, Lucy." Amenadiel lowered a hand to help him up. "And when you're feeling up to it, I'll fill you in on all the rest. Father has a new assignment for you."

"I suppose it would be asking too much to expect some paternally-sanctioned leisure time," Lucifer grunted. As Amenadiel tugged and Chloe supported, they managed to help him to his feet.

"And how is that any different from what you've been doing for the past decade?" Amenadiel asked.

"It's hardly the same thing," Lucifer balked. "For most of that time, the Detective and I were very busy chasing down bad guys and ensuring that they received the proper punishments. It wasn't exactly a picnic, you know."

"Since when do you have a problem chasing down bad guys?" Chloe teased him as he limped along beside her.

"I love our work, Detective," Lucifer clarified. "You know that. All I meant was that if Dad has some dreadful twelfth dimension outpost in mind for me, I'd prefer to spend a bit of time with you before I have to leave again."

When Lucifer stumbled, Amenadiel reached out to support him. With Amenadiel shouldering much of his brother's weight, they lumbered out into the sunlight. "Linda's waiting nearby with the car," Amenadiel explained. "I'll just send her a text to let her know we're ready for her."

"Is the LAPD on its way?" Chloe asked.

"Not yet," Amenadiel said. "Maze called Dan, so it's only a matter of time. Hopefully, we'll be gone when they get here."

"They'll have a lot of questions. And they'll wonder why we didn't stick around to fill in the gaps," Chloe predicted, shaking her head. Already, she dreaded the investigation that would follow. "Most of this won't make any sense to them."

"Well, it can't be any more confusing than the mess that was left behind after Cain's death," Lucifer reminded her. "Have faith, Detective. Dad will get it all sorted. He's been doing it for thousands of years."

As they waited on the sidewalk, the bright light afforded Chloe her first opportunity to really inspect the extent of Lucifer's injuries, and what she saw painted a sobering portrait of all that he'd endured at the hands of Lilith and her demons. "Oh, _Lucifer_," she said, feeling nauseated at the sight of so much torn flesh. "Your wounds . . . the bruises . . . it must have been horrible."

"Well, I suppose I'd be lying if I didn't admit to having a devil of a time in there."

"How can you joke about it?" she scolded him.

"Come now, Detective. Where's your sense of humor?" he asked. "It's all done now. We've been rescued. Things are starting to look up. And besides, now that it's all behind me, I'm looking forward to my convalescence. I have a feeling you'll make a first-rate nurse."

"About that," she began, not sure how to broach a subject with which Lucifer was sure to take exception. "I was thinking . . . it might be a good idea for me to ride to your place in a separate car. Your body needs to start the healing process, and it can't do that so easily when I'm nearby."

"I agree." Amenadiel nodded resolutely as he stuffed his phone back into his pocket. "I just had a message from Maze. She's coming to pick up Chloe. Lucifer, you and I can ride back to Lux with Linda."

"That's a bloody terrible idea," Lucifer exploded, tightening his hold on Chloe's arm. "The Detective is riding with me."

"But you need space," Chloe insisted.

"Lucy, she's right. This is the best way. And when you're feeling more like yourself, Chloe can join us at Lux."

"Absolutely not," Lucifer huffed. "I won't agree to it. We've been apart for too long, and who knows what father has in store for me now that I've been demoted. The Detective and I might very well be facing a far more permanent separation. Maze can follow along behind us if she likes, but the Detective will be in the car with me."

Lucifer was injured and seemingly at his most obstinate. With a sullen nod at each of them, he said nothing more to Chloe or his brother. But from his unyielding stance and the stubborn jut of his chin, he made it abundantly clear that their suggestion had rankled him. The former Lord of Hell was pouting.

Ultimately, it was Maze who surprised them all by convincing Lucifer that a brief separation was a good idea. When she arrived first on scene, Lucifer wasted no time in informing her that she'd made a wasted trip and that her services wouldn't be needed. Instead of becoming defensive, however, she merely shrugged and said, "Suit yourself." As she removed her motorcycle helmet and tossed her hair back and forth, she added, "It's a shame, though, because I know for a fact that there's a little girl who _desperately_ misses her mother." With the bike balanced between her legs, she made a show of wiping a smudge off of the visor with her sleeve. "I mean, I did tell Trixie that I was picking up Chloe and that we _might_ stop by Dan's place on the way over to Lux. It's no big deal, though. Plans change . . . . I'm sure she'll understand. Kids are resilient."

"The Detective will want to see her, though," Lucifer reflected as if the thought had been entirely his own. "It's too bad we can't pop by Daniel's apartment on the way home. I fear that it might scare the urchin to see me in my present condition, though."

"Unless, of course, you think Chloe should come with me . . . ." Maze suggested.

When Lucifer seemed like he might be considering the idea, Maze tilted her head and lowered the boom. "Besides, you could really use some 'me' time, Lucifer. You look like shit."

"Brutally honest, as always," he observed. After a brief pause, he conceded, "I suppose the child _should_ see her mother. And vice versa."

And so when Linda arrived, he begrudgingly allowed himself to be tucked into the front seat of the car—but only after he'd made clear his expectation of seeing them at Lux as soon as Trixie had been put to bed that evening. "And no more than _three_ bedtime stories," he cautioned Chloe. "If you allow it, the little minx will have you reading until midnight. Believe me, Detective. I've been on the receiving end of that one, and she can be very devious when she sets her mind to it."

* * *

"Showered, shaved and feeling fresh as a daisy," Lucifer announced to the Detective and Amenadiel that evening when he joined them in his living room. As a consequence of his still-healing injuries, he moved with far less panache than usual, but already, he was feeling more spry. He'd been able to put on a clean shirt when his wounds finally stopped bleeding, and the Italian cotton felt sublime against his skin. "Shall I make us some drinks? Care for a Slippery Nipple, Brother? Or perhaps a Pink Raspberry Cosmo?"

"First things first," the Detective said, patting the couch cushion beside hers. "I picked up a First Aid kit on the way over here. A few of those wounds look like they could use some minor medical attention. May I?" she asked, although her request seemed to be little more than a formality because as he sat down beside her, she was already removing a cuff link and rolling up his sleeve. Lucifer smiled, eagerly leaning into his new reality—however temporary it might be. It appeared that the Detective was now all too willing to take liberties with his person, and he found that he liked that very much.

"Detective, are you asking for permission to play nurse? If so, you have my full consent to administer any treatment that you deem necessary." Lucifer settled back against the leather cushion and held out his arm. "When you're finished there, I have a few other areas that could use your attention."

She eyed him coyly from beneath her lashes. "Oh, do you? Well, in that case, I promise to give you a _very_ thorough examination," she practically purred at him. He was the retired King of Hell, and the Detective was flirting with him. Things were certainly on the upswing.

Amenadiel cleared his throat. "All right, you two. Let's not forget that there's someone else in the room with you."

"Feeling left out, are you, Amendadiel? My apologies . . . . We'd invite you to join, but you're my brother and even _I_ think that would be inappropriate."

"Lucy, you know that's not what I meant. Look, just let me bring you up-to-speed, and then I promise to leave the two of you alone."

"And there he is—my brother, the Buzz Kill. If you're determined to ply us with the all minutiae, you might as well get on with it." Lucifer waved him along impatiently. "So, do tell us . . . what caused Hell to spring a leak?"

"Well, our working theory is that it was you, Lucy. Just as I suspected when we discovered the tear, we think it was a manifestation of your need to break free."

"If that's the case, then why _now_? I've needed to break free from Hell for years, but the place has never burst its buttons before."

As if he sensed that Lucifer needed it, Amenadiel walked to the bar and poured the three of them drinks.

"Make mine a double," Lucifer compelled him, and Amenadiel tipped another finger of whiskey into Lucifer's glass.

"You didn't _need_ to leave until now," Amenadiel explained calmly as he crossed the room carrying three tumblers with a steady hand. Handing one to Lucifer and placing the other two on the coffee table, he continued, "Surely you know the difference between a want and a need."

Lucifer took a long sip of his drink. "So what you're saying is that Hell and I were no longer a good fit."

"_Exactly_," Amenadiel confirmed, sounding relieved. "In the simplest terms, you'd outgrown it."

"Like a square peg in a round hole," the Detective suggested as she began winding a roll of gauze around Lucifer's forearm.

Amenadiel nodded. "Had you stayed, Hell might have eventually come to resemble a slice of Swiss cheese. And now that we have someone more appropriate filling the role once again, we don't anticipate any more leaks."

"What if you're wrong?" Lucifer countered.

"Then, we'll deal with that when it happens," Amenadiel said simply. "I wasn't lying to Lilith when I said we'd be monitoring the situation very closely. We may need to make a few tweaks here and there, but we feel fairly confident that we've found an acceptable solution."

"I'm just glad that you don't have to go back there," the Detective told him. "I don't think I could say goodbye to you again."

Lucifer grimaced. "No one's saying that I get to stay here," he reminded her. "I may not be going back to Hell, but that doesn't mean Father hasn't come up with an equally unpleasant assignment for me elsewhere. So what's it to be, Brother? Am I to be grand warden of a pack of defiant netherbeasts in some alt-universe? Or perhaps Dad's banishing me to the Void, as I did with Mum?"

"On the contrary," Amenadiel informed him with a satisfied smile. "You're not being _banished_ to anyplace. Father says you've been absolved. The slate has been wiped clean. He's of the belief that you've done enough and that you've learned your lesson. You even sacrificed yourself and your own happiness to protect the humans. It shows growth, and that's all he ever wanted to see. Father is impressed with you, Lucifer."

"Well, bully for him," Lucifer declared with a frown. "Earning his good opinion was never my intention, I can assure you."

"Which makes it all the more sweet," Amenadiel said. "Your good works weren't performed with any thought for your own redemption. They were wholly unselfish. And as a result, you're being reassigned."

"Why can't he stay here on Earth?" the Detective pressed. "This is where he belongs now."

"Relax, Chloe," Amenadiel said in a voice that blew through the air like a mid-morning breeze, instantly calming her. "He's not leaving. Lucifer _is_ being assigned to Earth."

"To _Earth_?" she repeated.

"Yes," Amenadiel confirmed. "Although you were wrong about one thing, Chloe. Lucifer doesn't belong _here_."

"He doesn't? But you just said that he gets to stay."

"He does."

Lucifer rolled his eyes. Leaning toward the Detective, he explained, "It's a bit like having a conversation with the Riddler. Amenadiel's never said or done a straight-forward thing in his life. He once held up a game of 'Never, Have I Ever' for three days while he considered whether being cuddled by Mum as an infant qualified as giving someone a lap dance."

"What I meant," Amenadiel clarified, "is that Lucifer doesn't belong here on Earth. He belongs with _you_. And as long as you're here, Father would prefer that he remain here, too."

"Oh," she responded, looking stunned and pleased all at once.

"Don't get so excited," Lucifer warned her. "My Father's involved, so I'm sure there's a catch."

"There is no catch," Amenadiel informed them. "The nature of your assignment is as follows . . . . You've been given a half century to walk the Earth as Father's emissary."

"And where exactly will I be doing my walking?" Lucifer asked. "Am I to become Father's emissary to Tulsa, Oklahoma? Or perhaps he's sending me to some secluded Burmese monastery?"

"No, Lucifer, you can go wherever you choose."

"Well, it seems rather obvious that I choose to be wherever the Detective is—as long as she wants me there."

"That was Father's assumption, as well."

"Will I keep my wings?" he asked suddenly. Amenadiel had said "walk the Earth," causing Lucifer to wonder if perhaps his father intended to strip him of his wings. Perhaps, that was the "catch."

"Since when do you care about your wings?" Amenadiel inquired. "As I recall, you had Maze cut them off, you hid them in a storage locker and you attempted to incinerate them."

"That's all in the past," Lucifer admitted. "Since then, I've grown more accustomed to them. And besides, the Detective fancies them."

"It's true," she agreed, and Lucifer didn't miss the very becoming blush that swept from her neck to her cheeks. Having finished playing the role of nurse—for the time being, anyway—she curled into his side, and he slipped an arm around her shoulder. With a drink one one side of him and the Detective on the other, he felt calmer than he had in weeks.

"This isn't a punishment," Amenadiel pointed out. "You're still an Angel of God, Lucy, and as such, you'll retain all the perks—immortality, invulnerability . . . wings. Of course, you and I both know that the wings can be tricky. You'll keep them as long as you feel like you deserve them."

"Wait," the Detective said suddenly. "So Lucifer gets to stay here for the next fifty years?"

Amenadiel shrugged. "He'll have a half century, give or take a couple of decades. The exact timing has yet to be determined." Addressing Lucifer directly, he said, "In essence, you have the span of Chloe's life to get your affairs in order if you wish to re-enter the Gates of Heaven."

"Meaning that I need to make nice with Dad so that he'll welcome me back to the Silver City."

"Precisely," Amenadiel affirmed. "Father assumed that when Chloe leaves the Earth for good, you'd prefer to go with her."

"He assumed correctly," Lucifer said. "I don't wish to be parted from the Detective. I'll stay with her forever if she'll have me. But only if it's what she wants."

The Detective glanced up at him and smiled. Her face was full of fresh sunshine, and when he looked at her, he could easily envision spending an eternity at her side. "Lucifer, I'll always want that," she assured him.

"Then, I'll broker no further arguments about this new assignment, Brother. And I'll assume this is an apology of sorts. I imagine it's the most I'll ever get from Dad."

"Think of it more like a stamp of approval," Amenadiel proposed instead. "Father's proud of you."

"Hold on," the Detective interjected once more, leaning forward and aiming a dissatisfied look at Amenadiel. "Lucifer won't age, and I will."

Amenadiel eyed her curiously, as if he failed to see the issue inherent in her statement. "You find that objectionable?" he asked.

"_Yes_, I do. As much as it probably makes me sound self-absorbed and egotistical, I think it could become a problem when I'm sixty and Lucifer still looks like he's thirty. Does it have to be that way?"

"Not necessarily," Amenadiel acknowledged. "Angels self-actualize."

"Meaning that if Lucifer feels older, it's possible that he'll _look_ older, too?

Amenadiel nodded slowly. "It seems reasonable to assume that. Just the other day, I found two grey hairs in my beard that had never been there before. At first, I was confused. But then, I realized that being Charlie's father makes me feel older and wiser. It stands to reason that my outer appearance would evolve in tandem with my soul. After all, isn't life supposed to be about evolution and growth? In my opinion, it's a beautiful testament to all that Father's created."

"That's a load of bollocks," Lucifer announced. "What if I don't want to look older?" The Detective might be satisfied with Amenadiel's explanation, but he _most certainly _was not.

"Lucifer, it's a positive thing," she said, settling back against his shoulder again.

"How is it a positive thing to know that at some point, I'll be stripped of my good looks?" he demanded.

"Well, it's going to happen to me," she reminded him. "And it would make me happy to know that we can go through the aging process together. Does it bother you that I won't always look like this?"

"Certainly not," he said immediately. At least, that part of the scenario required little to no reflection. "I'll love you no matter what you look like, Detective."

"And it will be the same for me. Lucifer, it's what I want. I want us to grow old _together_."

"Very well," he sighed, privately conceding that the 'together' part sounded promising. As always, he would hold back nothing if her happiness depended upon it. "If it's what you want. But you have to promise me that you'll at least maintain the pretense of being attracted to me when I start to lose my lustre."

"I'll always be attracted to you. You don't need to worry about that."

Strangely, he found that her words did make him feel better.

"But what will I do with myself for the next fifty years?" he asked Amenadiel. "Surely, Dad has some specific task in mind for me while I'm here on Earth."

His brother merely shrugged as he began walking toward the elevator. "Be fruitful and multiply."

"You expect me to spawn a mewling infant? _Never_," Lucifer sputtered, downing what remained of his drink. He could feel himself growing hot at the very suggestion. "Besides, angels can't procreate."

"I'm walking proof that in certain circumstances, they can," Amenadiel called out just before the doors closed in front of him.

"Well, it won't happen to me," Lucifer grumbled, suddenly feeling agitated and fidgety. "And besides, Detective, you already have a child. Why would you want another one?"

"Actually, I wouldn't mind another—"

"_Absolutely not_," he declared, staring at her as if she had just sprouted three additional heads. "Don't even think it. It's out of the question. The one you currently have is perfectly acceptable, but as to any more, it's simply out of the question."

"I don't know . . ." she said, allowing the end of her statement to dangle in the air. "It might be nice to have a few little devils running around under foot."

"But I'm not even the Devil anymore!" he protested.

"You'll always be the Devil to me," she whispered, snuggling into him. Casually, she began tracing circles on his inner thigh with her index finger. _For the love of Dad_, with her doing a thing like that, he could hardly recall his own name, let alone broker a compelling argument against reproduction.

"Lucifer, I'm kidding," she laughed, letting her hand slide higher and higher up his leg.

"It was a joke?" he clarified.

"Yeah," she responded with a sly smile. "Mostly."


	15. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've reached the end. Thank you all for reading. :)

** _The New Assignment at Six Months_ **

"Mmm, this is_ nice._" Chloe tilted her chin toward the sky, inviting the late afternoon sunshine to warm her face as she ambled along the sidewalk with a total lack of regard for the usual constraints of time and responsibility. The streets were crowded with a mix of tourists, locals and the strange breed of hybrids who often fall somewhere in between, but even so, being in a country where she barely understood the language lent an air of blissful seclusion to the experience. Life was good. Really, _really_ good. "The people. The food. The music and art . . . . I love it all. Rome is _so_ much more enjoyable this time around."

"Well, of course it is, Detective, because this time you don't have Father Whack-a-Mole nipping at your heels and filling your head with a pile of celestial rubbish about yours truly."

"Yes, there's that," she agreed, squeezing Lucifer's hand. As they walked, her shoulder brushed against his arm, and she looked up at him with an easy smile. "I also feel more . . . I don't know . . . at peace? And I'm glad we were able to bring Trixie with us, too."

"I have to admit that she hasn't caused nearly the degree of botheration that I'd expected. I've never traveled with a child before, but I'd always heard unspeakable things about it. I'm relieved to admit that our experience has been almost entirely positive." Up ahead Trixie skipped along behind a pigeon, weaving in and out of a set of café tables that had been sprinkled along the sidewalk. When the restaurant's proprietor had the misfortune of crossing paths with her, she nearly upended the tray he was carrying, earning her a grimace and a hastily-muttered oath.

"I'm not sure that guy would agree with you," Chloe laughed. "Trixie needs to be more careful."

Lucifer shrugged. "On the contrary . . . . It's hardly the child's fault that the man's tables were scattered all over the walkway. And he'd do better to look both ways before walking out into a busy thoroughfare with his tray."

As they watched, Trixie continued chasing the pigeon as far as the next cross street. Chloe wondered if she'd forgotten that they were behind her, but just when Trixie's toes were poised to dive off of the curb into the street, she turned around and waved. Having apparently decided that she'd strayed too far ahead, she doubled back and ran through the same set of tables again as she bore down on them from the opposite direction.

When she passed a small collection of people on the steps of an old, stone church, she stopped suddenly and conspicuously, seemingly intent upon gawking at the young couple that had just emerged through a pair of intricately carved red doors. With an impatient wave, she motioned for Chloe and Lucifer to join her.

"Trixie, it's not polite to stare," Chloe hissed when they were within earshot.

"She looks like Ariel," Trixie observed in a tone that was far too loud for the dictates of polite society. Chloe favored the couple with an apologetic smile and shooed her daughter along. "Well, she _does_," Trixie insisted, glancing over her shoulder at her mother.

"While that may be true," Chloe acknowledged, "they were having a special moment, and it's not always nice to interrupt."

"Even if it's just to tell the bride that she looks like a Disney Princess?"

"Yes, even then," Chloe sighed.

They passed exactly three more buildings before Trixie spoke again. Without even turning around to look at them, she called back, "Mommy, you and Lucifer should get married."

Had Trixie merely skipped away, the matter might have died right then and there. But instead, she looped back and joined hands with Lucifer. Chloe watched him for a reaction, noting that he didn't even flinch. Whereas once he might have shied away from exposure to a hand that rarely, if ever, came into contact with a bar of soap, he now continued along as if there was nothing remotely extraordinary about having a child of ten dangling from his fingertips.

"I'm serious," Trixie persisted. "You two should get married."

"Trixie, that's enough," Chloe admonished her, staring past Lucifer and silencing her daughter with a remonstrative glare.

"Why not?" Trixie continued. "Isn't that what people do when they love each other?"

"Sure, um, when the timing is right . . . ." Chloe stammered. "And if it's what both people want . . . and, you know, marriage is a really big step, Trix. It's important to be ready for it when you take that leap." _There_, Chloe thought. It never hurt to throw in a little life lesson. And that, she hoped, would be the end of the matter.

"So what you're saying is that you and Lucifer aren't ready?" Trixie asked.

"No, um, what I'm saying is that, well, it's not something we've discussed. Yet. Or possibly ever." Chloe was dying a protracted and painful death. It really was tragic how little control she had over her daughter's mouth. "Babe, can we maybe talk about something else?" she asked. _Preferably something that won't cause Lucifer to break into a sweat_, she added silently.

"Okay, sure, Mommy," Trixie agreed as she swung Lucifer's hand back and forth between them.

Chloe unclenched her shoulders and allowed herself to breathe freely again. Trixie's consent meant that they could move on to another subject. Or no subject at all. "Hey, how about some gelato?" she suggested. "I think there's a shop just around the next corner."

But then, things took a hard right, and Lucifer picked up the ball where Trixie had dropped it. "Do you want that, Detective?" he asked.

"Want what? Gelato?" she clarified.

"No. _Marriage._ Do you want to be married? More specifically, do you want to be married to _me_?"

"Maybe we should talk about this later," she whispered. "When it's just you and me . . . alone?"

"Why not now?" he asked, sounding mildly agitated. "Does it bother you to discuss it?"

"Lucifer, you don't want to be married," she told him.

"That's not what I asked. I asked for _your_ thoughts on the subject."

"Well . . . I mean . . . I don't know. I guess it would be kind of nice to eventually make that commitment to each other. If we both thought it was the right thing for us."

"Well, what if I told you that I agree with you, Detective?"

"Lucifer, marriage is a serious business," she sighed. "It's not something that you just do on a whim. It's a forever kind of thing."

"Are _we_ not a forever kind of a thing?" he responded, looking stricken.

"Well, yes. Sure we are. _Yes_. We're definitely a 'forever kind of a thing,'" she assured him. To her, they were a "forever kind of thing" in the truest sense of the phrase.

"Then, I think the little mongrel is right," he concluded. "We should get married. Right here. Today."

"Lucifer, that can't be what you really want," she laughed uncomfortably. "Is it?"

"Yes, Detective. It's absolutely what I want. But you're making me think that perhaps _you're_ the one who's not ready for it."

"Me?" she responded weakly. Of course, she was ready for marriage. More to the point, she'd be lying if she didn't admit to having considered the prospect of marrying Lucifer. She was human, after all, and it was a level of commitment that she understood. But to expect that Lucifer would feel compelled to take that leap with her—that he would be interested doing something so _human_—was a bit of a shock.

"Detective, why aren't you saying anything? Did I frighten you?"

"No, no. I'm not scared. Well, maybe a little bit," she admitted. "But in a good way."

"Then, let's do it," he said with finality.

Chloe nodded, and then finally, she smiled. "Okay, we're doing it."

"Yea, we're doing it!" Trixie yelled.

ﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌ

That night as they lay in bed with the balcony doors thrown open, a distant clock chimed twelve times. It was midnight, but neither of them was ready for sleep quite yet.

"So are you glad we did it?" she asked, rolling onto her side to face him. "You're not experiencing any buyer's remorse, are you?"

He held up his left hand, examining his ring in the moonlight. "No, I think it was a good purchase. Although I may have the stone changed out by my local jeweler when we get back to L.A.," he told her. "Do you like yours?" He reached down and lifted her hand to examine the ring.

"I'm not talking about the rings," she laughed. "I meant _me_."

"I know." Lacing his fingers through hers, he smiled as he looked down at their joined hands. "So now that we're married, do you think you'll take my last name?"

"I haven't decided," she admitted. Trying it out, she said, "_Chloe Morningstar._"

"Not bad, Detective. I like it."

"Lucifer, it sounds like a stripper name."

"And what's wrong with that? Besides, anything you put with the name 'Chloe' is going to sound like a stripper name."

"'Chloe' isn't the problem," she groaned, kicking him lightly in the shin. "It's the 'Morningstar' part that gives it the stripper vibe." She gave the matter some consideration, finally coming up with a different idea. "Maybe I could be Chloe Decker by day and Chloe _Morningstar_ at night. Or, Detective Morningstar, if you prefer . . . ."

"Yes," he readily agreed. "Like an alter ego. I like that even better. _Detective_ Morningstar," he repeated, looking delighted as it rolled off of his tongue. "_Detective Morningstar_, I'd like to report a crime."

"Oh, really?" she asked, arching an eyebrow at him. "What crime would you like to report?"

"Wait. No. I've changed my mind," he announced suddenly. "I'd like to _confess_ to a crime."

As he pulled her against him, she laughed. "Okay. What crime would you like to confess to?"

"Who cares what the crime is, Detective," he said, angling his mouth toward hers. "The only part that really matters is the punishment."

* * *

** _The New Assignment at Three Years  
_ **

"Well, here it is," Chloe said, swallowing the tiny tremor in her voice. As the car rolled to a stop, she turned off the ignition and looked over at Lucifer. He craned his neck, staring through the windshield at the house in front of them.

And then he said . . . nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

"What do you think?" she asked, when she could no longer handle the silence.

"There are no nightclubs nearby," he observed, neither committing to a favorable review nor openly criticizing what he saw.

"No. There are no nightclubs," she agreed, allowing him some additional time to process his thoughts. She reminded herself that it was just a house. If he didn't care for this one, they'd find another one.

As he tilted his head left and then right, scrutinizing the façade from different angles, he said, "I wonder if we might miss the ambient street noise at night. You have to admit, Detective, this neighborhood seems to be incredibly quiet. Do you suppose it's always like this or have we just come at a bad time?"

"Are you asking if I'll miss hearing car horns and squealing tires through the balcony doors at two in the morning?" she laughed. "Or maybe you were referring to the experience of being ripped out of a sound sleep by a backfiring automobile . . . ."

"When you put it that way, it sounds less than ideal," he grumbled. After that, she expected his rose-colored nostalgia to fade, but then he said, "I don't suppose you noticed that sweaty chap out mowing his lawn a few doors down. How often do you think a lawn needs mowing? It can't be more than once or twice a year, can it?"

"Well, that was a lawn service, Lucifer. _Not_ the homeowner. And in answer to your other questions, I think a lawn needs to be mowed a lot more often than once or twice a year."

"Seems a bit extreme," he sniffed. "When Dad created grass, I'm sure he had no idea how much time humans would spend tending to it."

"I imagine people work in their yards because they want them to look nice," she reasoned. With a sigh, she finally said, "Look, Lucifer, if you don't want to go in and see the house, it's fine."

"Now, I didn't say that, exactly," he corrected her. "Perhaps, there might be someplace that suits us better, though, Detective. I'll bet this house doesn't even have a hot tub."

"You're right. It doesn't have _a _hot tub," she said with a smirk. "It has three. Not to mention, there's a massive swimming pool with an infinity edge, an amazing view of the ocean, an outdoor kitchen with a bar, a goldfish pond and a cabana that is literally the size of a small circus tent."

"I suppose it might be worth a look," he conceded, although he remained in the passenger seat with his safety belt firmly in place.

Getting Lucifer out of the car was always going to be the biggest challenge. Chloe had known that as soon as she'd set up the appointment with the real estate agent. So it was with slow-moving hands and a patient smile that she un-clipped her own seat belt and waited for him to do the same. They were ten minutes early, and that was no accident. Chloe had known he'd need time to ruminate before going inside to look at the house.

"I hadn't expected to find a club right downstairs, mind you," he continued, looping back to his initial concern. "But at the very least, it would be nice to have one in the neighborhood."

Chloe pursed her lips, trying not to smile. "Lucifer, when was the last time you went downstairs to Lux?"

Pivoting in his seat to face her, he said, "I'll have you know that I was down there just last week to speak to Maze about a payroll issue."

"And what did you do while you were down there?"

"I just told you," he repeated. "I discussed the payroll with Mazikeen."

"And _then_ what?" she prodded him, well aware that she sounded like a detective in the Interrogation Room.

"And _then_ I went back upstairs," he told her with a snort. "_Obviously_."

"You didn't stick around downstairs for a while?" she persisted.

"Well, no, Detective. You remember . . . . It was the night we played Clue, and I correctly guessed that it was Colonel Mustard in the Billiard Room with the candlestick. Speaking of which, we really do need to find that revolver. One can hardly play a proper game of Clue with one of the weapons missing. I suspect that _someone_ allowed it to fall between the couch cushions . . . ."

"Lucifer, _why_ didn't you stay down at Lux after you finished discussing management issues with Maze?"

Lucifer sighed dramatically, throwing up his hands in surrender. "If you must know, it was too loud, too dark and some young Kimberly spilled a Chocolate Martini on my shoes. She very nearly ruined a perfectly good pair of Louboutins!"

Chloe watched and waited, turning up the pressure notch by notch as she held out for the payoff.

Sounding sullen, he finally said, "Fine. I see your point, Detective. I may have outgrown Lux."

"Lucifer, you can still go to Lux any time you want," she pointed out. "It would only be a short drive from here—or wherever we end up living. And the penthouse isn't even being sold. It will always be there if you want to visit. No one's saying you can't ever go back there."

"But you and the urchin wouldn't be there," he noted. "It wouldn't be the same. Maybe I could build a club near the new house. Naturally, it couldn't be downstairs. That would never suit. Somewhere nearby, though . . . . There's already a house on either side of this one, but perhaps one of the owners might be talked into selling. Or there's that vacant lot across the street. We'd need to have a landscaper erect a suitable barrier in front of it; some tall trees or a wide hedge would probably do the trick. Otherwise, the light pollution could become a real problem in the evenings."

Chloe put up a hand to stop him. Already, she was feeling too many emotions percolating inside of her. She'd been determined to remain calm, but he was making it difficult, to say the least. "Lucifer," she said, massaging her forehead with the pads of her fingers, "the purpose of moving was to offer us a change of venue. Having a nightclub next door sounds pretty similar to where we live now."

"Detective, did you miss what I said about the lot _across the street_? Of course, the Zoning Board would raise quite the objection, I'm sure. But that would be a minor hurdle if we really wanted to live here."

"Zoning is _not_ the issue," she told him, feeling the words tumble out of her at the speed of a rockslide. "It's just that . . . what we really need is . . . I mean, Lucifer, the _issue _is . . . ." she stammered, finally giving up and slumping against the back of the seat.

"Detective, what _is_ the issue?" he insisted. "Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong," she groaned, determined to push forward. After all, she didn't have much of a choice. How could she possibly expect to have a sensible discussion with him when all the cards weren't on the table? "Lucifer, I understand what a difficult transition this is going to be for you. I really do get it. Lux has been a big part of your life for a long time. It can't be easy to let it go."

"It's where we met," he reminded her. "And where I realized you still cared for me in spite of my Devil Face."

"It's important to me, too," she assured him, covering his hand with hers as she slowly un-clipped his seat belt. "And it's not going anywhere. We just need some space to stretch our legs—as a couple and as a family. And hey, if we absolutely hate the new place, we'll move back. Or we'll go somewhere else. But we'll do it together."

"You'd really be all right with that?" he asked, eyeing her warily. "You'd be willing to go back to Lux if the move didn't work out?"

"Well, yeah," she agreed, but she was sure the reluctance was evident in her tone. With a ragged intake of breath, she acknowledged that it was time to pop the seal. As with so many things "Lucifer," she fully expected a colossal overreaction to what she was going to tell him. That was why she had waited more than a week to have the conversation.

"Yes, we can go back," she conceded slowly, "although if we do, we'll have to find a space for the crib. It won't exactly fit in with the décor."

"Crib? Why would we need a crib?" he asked, sounding bewildered.

"I don't know . . . . Why does anyone need a crib?"

"Detective, I'm not sure that I'm following you. Are you trying to tell me you're expecting?"

"_Yes._" She exhaled, feeling relieved that _her_ secret was finally_ their_ secret. Since taking the test and having it confirmed by her doctor, she'd worried about his reaction—so much so that she'd come up with every imaginable excuse to delay the big announcement. "We're going to have a baby, Lucifer."

_Queue the colossal overreaction_, she thought as she braced for what was to come. She'd already prepared a mental list of ways to talk him off the ledge, so to speak. In the end, she knew that he'd be fine. He always was. She just had to get him to the point of acceptance.

But strangely, the colossal overreaction never came. "Huh," was all he said as he leaned back into the seat and stared out the front window, looking up at the house in front of them as if he were seeing it with fresh eyes.

"Is that really all you have to say?" she asked, examining him for signs of a mental break.

"Well, I guess it makes sense. It happened with my brother, and I did find those three grey hairs last week. Add to that the fact that I can't remember the last time my Devil Face made an appearance," he mused. "Do you remember when it was, Detective?"

"No, Lucifer. I don't remember," she said, feeling thoroughly confused by his reaction.

"It would appear that I've become more 'human' without even realizing it," he concluded.

"You sound so _calm_," she said. "Are you really this calm or is it all just an act? Because I've gotta' admit that I'm freaking out. And not just a little bit. _A lot." _To emphasize her point, she spread her arms wide. Then, to cap it all off, she started sobbing. And the tears weren't demure lady tears. They were frantic and sloppy.

His unexpected reaction had thrown her off. She had _expected_ to be the voice of reason. She had _expected_ him to spring from the car and walk back to Lux for a double shot of tequila. She had _expected_ a rash, over-the-top response followed by weeks of denial and avoidance. What she had _not_ expected was a reasonable, possibly even favorable reaction to the news.

"Why are you upset?" he asked, instantly leaning across the center console and taking her hands in his.

"Why are you _not_ upset?" she pushed back.

He released one hand and quickly extricated the handkerchief from his front pocket. As he handed it to her, she stared at the silk square, initially refusing to accept it. "Are you sure you want me to use this?" she asked, feeling appalled at the suggestion that she should blow her nose on one of his best paisley pocket squares. "It's one of your favorites."

"Oh, please. They're a dime a dozen," he assured her, pressing it into her hand. "Do your worst, Detective."

She blew her nose and wiped her eyes, feeling like a fool for falling apart when she was supposed to be the calm one. "I had expected you to be more upset about this," she told him.

"I see what's happened here," he said, wiping away a few tears with his thumb. "You worked yourself up into a state because you were worried about my reaction."

"No, Lucifer. It's not just that. I'm worried about _all_ of it," she sniffled as the tears began rolling down her cheeks again. "I mean, I'm having a baby with the former King of Hell. What does that even mean? Not even you can answer that question. Will our baby have wings? Will he have a tiny Devil Face? What happens when his preschool teacher reprimands him for biting a kid and he flashes her a pair of red eyes? And then there's the issue of his safety . . . . Will he be a target? Because surely, after being the Devil for so long, you have more than a few enemies who would love to kidnap and torture your son."

"Or daughter," he reminded her. "It could be a girl."

"_So_ not the point, Lucifer," she sighed, although it did flip the image in her head quite a bit. She'd been imagining a boy, but he was absolutely right. They might have a daughter. "The point is, how are we supposed to handle all of it? We're out of our depth here. Both of us. We don't know what we're doing."

"Relax, Detective. It's going to be fine. It's not like there isn't any precedent. We can thank Amenadiel and Linda for that. They've been through this, and they can advise us."

"That's true," she owned, recalling the way Linda had come completely unglued at the prospect of giving birth to a half-angel baby. In the end, the results hadn't been so terrible. With some minor adjustments, she and Amenadiel were managing to muddle through the process of raising a celestial in a human world.

"But you hate children, Lucifer."

"Not all of them," he noted. "Charlie's certainly adequate enough. I mean, his wings are a bit off-center, and he's prone to ill-timed theatrics—"

"He's a kid. It's what four-year-olds do."

"So you keep telling me," he said. "And then there's Trixie. You know I've grown rather fond of her."

His statement was enough to arrest her tears completely. As she stared at him with watery eyes and a puffy nose, her mouth curved into a delicate smile. "You called her Trixie," she whispered.

"Well, yes. I guess I did."

"You've never done that before."

"It doesn't change anything, really," he told her. "She's still a wastrel and a miscreant. I'm also one-hundred percent certain that she's the one who rubbed chocolate frosting across the back side of that throw pillow, which she then tried to conceal by stuffing it in a drawer." After a moment's consideration, he asked, "Do you think the new one will be such a troublemaker?"

"I'm giving birth to _your_ child, Lucifer. Do you even need to ask that question? I expect that our problems are going to be much bigger than some chocolate-covered pillow stuffed in a drawer."

"You're probably right." Looking up at the house again, he said, "We'll need to install double-locks on the windows and doors. And when the time comes, how would you feel about draping a large net over the house? Do you think the neighbors would have a problem with it?"

"A net? Why would we need a net?"

"In case he—or _she_—tries to fly off of the roof, of course."

"Lucifer, you're not making me feel better."

"It'll be fine, Detective. With a few minor tweaks here and there, we'll survive. But we should get going," he said as he stepped out of the car and slammed the door. Without waiting for her, he began walking briskly toward the house. "I have loads of questions for the agent. In particular, we need to confirm that the house isn't in the flight path of LAX. That could make for some dodgy situations."

* * *

_ **The New Assignment at Three Years and Eight Months** _

"A man cave? It doesn't sound very appealing, Detective. It calls to mind too many images involving neon beer signs and yard sale furniture. Perhaps, even an overly-imposing neighbor named Al, whose shirts always seem to expose his navel," Lucifer complained as she led him down the hallway. She'd compelled him to close his eyes, and he wasn't entirely sure that he trusted her not to steer him into a sofa or a bookshelf.

"Just give it a chance. Okay? And if it makes you feel better, you don't have to call it a Man Cave. Think of it as a lounge—your own, personal lounge."

"That doesn't sound so bad," he acknowledged, deciding that her idea had merit after all. "Like a Den of Iniquity."

The Detective chuckled. "Not exactly what I had in mind . . . ."

"When can I open my eyes?" he asked, feeling impatient. He was entirely at her mercy, which under normal circumstances might have led to some rather interesting foreplay. She didn't seem to be in _that_ mood, though, so he couldn't see the point of the exercise.

"Not quite there yet," she said as she tugged him across the threshold into the downstairs guest room—or more accurately, the room that had formerly served that purpose. For weeks, it had been off-limits to him, so he had no idea what to expect when she finally allowed him to open his eyes. "All right," she finally relented. "You can open them now."

"It's about time," he informed her, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim orange glow emitted by a pair of stylish pendant lights above a bar. She'd brought him into the center of the room, and as he assessed his new surroundings, he spun in a slow circle. "Bravo, Detective," he muttered, regretting how ungraciously he'd behaved in the moments leading up to the reveal. "You've outdone yourself."

"_Technically_, Arturo outdid himself," she said, referring to the interior designer she'd commissioned to pull it all together. "Lucifer, I just thought . . . . you know, with the baby coming . . . it seemed like a good idea for you to have a space of your own. Someplace where you could get away when it all becomes too much for you."

"_Yes_," he agreed, immediately crossing the room to a small Steinway. He raised the lid and tapped out a quick melody on the keys, nodding appreciatively as the sound echoed around the room. "You've given me my own piano."

"Well, you do have the one in the living room," she reminded him, "but I thought it might be nice to have one here, too."

"I couldn't agree more, Detective. And with this one, there won't be any danger of my fingers stumbling into an unseen blob of peanut butter on middle C."

"I talked to Trixie about that, you know. She promised to start washing her hands before she practices . . . ."

"All the same, I think I feel much safer with the one in here," he decided.

"Did you see the bar?" She asked, and as she walked across the room, he followed her with his eyes. Sliding her hand across the sleek, marble countertop, she said, "Fully stocked. And none of the cheap stuff."

"You know me too well, Detective," he commended her.

"Then, if you come outside," she told him, motioning for him to follow, "there's another hot tub. In case you want to come out here and unwind alone or, you know, if you ever want me to join you in your _Den of Iniquity_." She winked at him, and that small gesture prompted a surfeit of imagery involving the Detective in his private hot tub. Her hair would be casually swept up to keep it out of the water, and her cheeks would be stained with an alluring glow as a consequence of the effervescing glass of champagne in her hand. She'd offer up a sexy, throaty giggle in response to some witty comment from him, and then she'd slide across the open space between him and run her hand up—

"This is _far_ better than I imagined, Detective. It's exactly what I needed. And I'm relieved to see that there's not a neon beer sign in sight," he observed as he scanned the room, which she'd filled with nearly everything he enjoyed and nothing that he didn't. And that's when he saw something that had him bounding across the room in three long strides. "What's _this_?" he demanded to know, feeling pleased and admittedly a bit star-struck by what he saw hanging on the wall.

"I thought you might like that," she admitted with a knowing smile.

"Hot Tub High School. A _true_ cinematic gem," he announced, ogling the framed movie poster as he gleefully rubbed his hands together. "This is quite the acquisition, Detective. Wherever did you find it?"

"In the back of my Mom's garage."

"But this belongs up in the front foyer," he protested. "It certainly shouldn't be hiding out down here where no one can see it."

"Um, no. Don't get any ideas, Lucifer. That movie poster will not be leaving this room," she insisted, laughing at him.

"It's even autographed," he observed, approaching the poster and gripping the sides of the frame as he studied it more closely.

"Yep. Signed by the lead actress herself."

"She was quite the starlet in her day. Whatever happened to her?"

"Well, from what I hear," she responded, leaning into him as if she were relaying the most salacious gossip, "she made the very wise decision to retire from acting and became a Detective with the LAPD, where she now works homicide cases with the former Lord of Hell. He also happens to be her husband, by the way, and they have a baby on the way who may or may not be born with wings and a devil face."

"It's too bad her life became so boring and ordinary after she retired from acting," he remarked.

"Yeah, it's too bad. Although from what I hear, she's pretty happy with her life."

"She is?"

"Yes," she assured him. "She's very, _very_ happy."

"Do you think she'd like to join me for a drink in my new hot tub? Nothing stronger than a Shirley Temple, mind you, on account of the pregnancy."

"I think she could probably be persuaded to do that . . . ."

ﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌ

Weeks later, the baby arrived. After a stay of a couple of days in the hospital, the family arrived home and Lucifer almost immediately retired to his lounge. For the most part, the measure was merely preemptive. Although he hadn't yet found it to be true, he feared that at some point, the near-constant crying might become too much for him. He'd been warned by more than one person that the first few months were the hardest, and he considered himself fortunate that the Detective had possessed the forethought to provide him with a sanctuary for use during those times when it all became too overwhelming.

For those first few weeks, Lucifer retreated to his private room with regularity, hoping to avoid any loud weeping spells or shrill outbursts that might trigger a burgeoning distaste for his newfound domesticity. He was happy with his home and family, and he wanted to remain that way.

By week four, however, he began to realize that the emotionally-charged chaos attendant to the baby was not so overwhelming after all. The loud outbursts were . . . . well, they were more tolerable than he'd expected. Even more confounding was the fact that after spending so much of his spare time in his private room with his private piano and his private bar, he began to feel lonely.

Consequently, he wandered toward the main part of the house with increasing frequency. As the Detective had pointed out, there was a Steinway up there, too, as well as a bar and a hot tub outside by the pool where Trixie liked to play. And all of that aside, the Man Cave was at the opposite end of the house from the nursery. More often than not, that's where the Detective could be found, and he missed seeing her.

Ultimately, Lucifer concluded that the baby's cries weren't nearly as loud as he'd anticipated, and even when he was out and about with the rest of the family, no one ever requested that he change a diaper. That alone dispelled the most burdensome of his infant-related worries, for having been informed by the hospital nurses that his offspring might be expected to soil itself _multiple_ _ times_ in one day, he had reached the inevitable conclusion that at some point, he would be called upon to disinfect the miniature human. Thankfully, that seemed _not_ to be the case.

As time passed, Lucifer ventured downstairs to his sanctuary less and less, until one day he acknowledged that weeks had passed without him visiting the space even once. What was most surprising to him, however, was that he didn't mind giving up his privacy because he had found fulfillment elsewhere.

Sadly for the Detective, though, there was one thing in Lucifer's Den of Iniquity that he _did_ mind giving up. When the Hot Tub High School poster migrated upstairs to their bedroom wall, she communicated her displeasure with a barrage of subtle sighs and not-so-subtle reminders that she'd warned him about bringing it out of the Man Cave. Fortunately, she did nothing worse than reposition a large potted palm in front of the frame, and Lucifer found that with a bit of creative trimming, he was still able to see all that he wanted to see. So in his mind, it was a definite 'win.'

* * *

** _The New Assignment at Four Years_ **

The persistent cries startled Lucifer awake, and he sat up in bed, feeling addled and disoriented. _Two-thirty in the morning_, according to the bedside clock. Normally, he slept through the baby's nighttime antics, but for some reason, the squalling infant had awakened _him_ with her caterwauling instead of the Detective. The Detective, bless her, seemed blissfully unaware of the dramatics that were going on next door in the nursery. Unlike him, she was resting peacefully. He considered nudging her awake, but then recalled how exhausted she'd been during dinner that evening. She'd been pulling the night shift, without fail, since the baby's birth four months before. Perhaps, it was his turn to give it a try.

As Lucifer pushed himself out of bed, the baby notched up her performance. Her lonely, pathetic mewling spiraled into a virtual aria of nightmarish shrieks, and he wondered how such a small creature could be responsible for creating such a fracas. The crying came to a screeching stop, however, the instant he appeared in the room.

"You were expecting your Mum, weren't you?" he challenged her from the doorway, still not sure if he wanted to fully commit to the late night encounter. "Well, the joke's on you. You got me instead."

Eyes that looked suspiciously similar to his own bore into him like steel-tipped barbs as he slowly crossed the room en route to the crib. Approaching the mischievous imp with all due caution, he finally convinced himself that it was safe enough to rest his hand on the crib rail. It was the first time he'd ever been alone with her, and as she watched him from down below, he felt rather convinced that she was trifling with him. Perhaps, she was waiting for him to run from the room in a panic. Or maybe she expected him to sit cowering in the corner until her mother arrived. Regardless, from all appearances, the tiny hobgoblin seemed to be very confident in her ability to make him feel uncomfortable, and he did not appreciate that in the slightest.

"Challenge accepted," he told her, manufacturing enough bravado to intimidate her. Or at least he hoped it was enough. "Tell me what's wrong, and we'll see what we can do about it. But no soiled nappies. That's where I draw the line."

In response, she sucked in her bottom lip and began to whimper.

_Absolutely not_, he concluded immediately. That simply would not do. Having come that far, he certainly didn't want the child rousing her mother now. "Well, I suppose I could pick you up, if you promise not to get too close." He reached into the crib and lifted her up, holding her out at arms' length, lest she spew bodily fluids on him. He'd seen it happen to the Detective on more than one occasion, and he didn't want any part of that.

She squirmed in his grasp, and her head bobbled unsteadily. From the far reaches of his brain, he recalled Linda mentioning something about supporting a baby's head during the early months. To facilitate that, Lucifer decided it might be best to sit with her in the rocking chair. As he slowly settled back against the cushion, he noted that it was surprisingly comfortable. No wonder the Detective liked sitting there so much. Remembering what Amenadiel had shown him when Charlie was an infant, he slipped an arm beneath the baby and cradled her against him.

"This isn't entirely awful," he decided, also noting that the whimpering had ceased. When he noticed a shiver, he tucked in the blanket more securely around her and then, as gently as he could manage, he began to rock. "There, there, baby," he whispered. "Time to sleep, Amelia."

With a small chuckle, he realized that in years to come, he'd probably remember that experience as the night "the baby" became Amelia to him. She certainly seemed far less nefarious than he'd made her out to be. When her eyes closed and she snuggled in against him, he saw the inevitability of what was to come. Narrowing his eyes at her, he could already predict that she was going to affect him as much as the Detective had—possibly even more so. Eventually, he might even come to _love _her.

"I suppose this was your plan for me all along, you nutty old codger," Lucifer grumbled, aiming a volley of half-hearted ire at his Dad. "Get me to fall in love with one of your beloved humans . . . have a child with her . . . and then just stand back and watch as the rest falls neatly into place."

As he looked down at the baby nestled in his arms, he felt a sudden—and completely unbidden—outpouring of affection, and he wondered if that was how his Father had felt. Shaking off the unexpected burst of sentimentality, he tried not to think about that.

* * *

** _The New Assignment at Twenty-Two Years  
_ **

"Lucifer Morningstar!" the Detective yelled from the living room, and he knew he was in trouble.

The first thing she requested—nay, demanded—as soon as he arrived was, "_Please_ tell me you didn't do this."

"Didn't do what?" he inquired, flashing her a disarming smile and relaxing onto the couch with his arms outstretched across the back. He had a pretty good idea that he knew why she was so worked up. Even so, he didn't intend to cop to it until he confirmed that they were on the same page. It wouldn't do at all to admit to an entirely different offense. In a world filled with Lucifer-sized landmines, whenever possible, he tried to limit himself to one log on the fire at a time.

"Did you hire a security guard to follow our daughter around campus?"

"Is this an interrogation, Detective?" he inquired, making the possibly-unwise decision to de-escalate the situation with a bit of humor. "You know how I love it when we play that game. I wish you'd warned me, though. I would've brought my handcuffs."

She closed her eyes, and for a fleeting moment, he thought she might be going to her "peaceful place," as she often called it. Unfortunately, it turned out that she was somewhere else entirely, and it definitely wasn't peaceful there. "Lucifer, _I'm serious,_" she yelled, hurling the words at him like a grenade. "Did you _actually_ hire some random stranger to tail your own child?"

He nodded, feeling entirely unapologetic about his actions. The secret was out. He might as well own it. "I did."

"Did you make a sizeable donation to the University with the stipulation that a _panic room_ be constructed in the basement of her dorm?"

"I never actually called it a 'panic room,'" he corrected her. "I believe I referred to it as a 'safety bunker.'"

"I'll take that as a 'yes,'" she concluded.

"You've seen the building, Detective. It's ancient. The door locks are rickety and substandard, and that simpleton who minds the front desk is no better than a five-year-old with a toy pistol."

"And did you," she began, pausing as she pinched the bridge of her nose, "offer a year's worth of _cronuts_ to campus security if they agreed to drive by her dorm at the top of every hour?"

"I did."

"Why?" she demanded. "Why would you do this, Lucifer?"

"To protect her, of course," he returned, by that point feeling mildly chagrined. The Detective often had that effect on him. It was extremely inconvenient. "She _needs_ to be protected."

"You mean, because she's half-angel . . . ."

"_Charlie_ is half-angel. There's hardly any novelty in that these days," he scoffed. "Amelia is far more than a mere 'half-angel.' She's one of the most remarkable creatures that's ever walked the Earth. She possesses gifts that my siblings and I don't even have."

"And because she's so unique, you were worried that someone might try and take advantage of her?" she asked. Her eyebrows were knitted together as if she were desperately searching for clarity in a situation that for her, must appear murky, at best. "Is that why you felt like she needed to be protected?"

"No, I wanted to protect her because she's _ours_," he shouted, having been worn down at last. "The world is a dangerous place, Detective. We see it every day at work. How can I, as her father, allow her to just go out there and open herself up to all of that? She's just a child. How are we supposed to keep her safe if we're not with her? It's an impossible situation."

"Oh, Lucifer," she sighed. "That's what it means to be a parent. You're not worried about her because she's half-celestial. You're worried about her because she's your child.

"I feel it, too," she admitted. "And it's no different than when Trixie went away to school. Although, you were much calmer then. You certainly never bribed campus security to stalk her on an hourly basis."

"Who says I didn't?" he inquired, wondering if perhaps it was best _not_ to go down that road.

"Did you?"

"I can't recall . . . ." It certainly hadn't been a coincidence that the school had received an anonymous endowment the year Trixie became a freshman. The only stipulation had been that the housing department had to install a high-tech security system, including video surveillance, outside all of the dorms. Thinking back, Lucifer recalled that at least _she_, had never noticed the bodyguard he'd hired to follow her around campus. Or if she _had_ spotted the man, she'd had the good sense not to mention it to her mother.

"I explicitly told Raoul to keep his distance so that Amelia wouldn't notice him," he complained. "The man must be completely incompetent. Of course, I should've predicted that she'd figure it all out. Like mother, like daughter. It's incredibly frustrating, Detective. How's a person supposed to hire a man to stalk his daughter when she notices _every bloody thing_ that happens around her?"

"Lucifer, we have to let her grow up. She's going to make mistakes along the way. And we'll be there to help when she needs it. But as you know, at some point, we've got to push her out of the nest."

"Don't remind me," he groaned. "Her flight training was a harrowing ordeal. I hope I never experience anything like that again."

"We survived," the Detective reminded him. She laughed, and that's when he knew he'd been forgiven. "We'll get through this, too."

* * *

** _The New Assignment at Twenty-Five Years_ **

"Well, I finished the report." Chloe rubbed her eyes and stretched. "I'm exhausted. Just let me file it and we can get out of here. I say we-"

"Go home and get some sleep," Lucifer muttered. "No need to finish the thought, Detective. I already know what you were planning to say next." From his chair beside her desk, he glowered at her. Although she'd changed desks more than once in as many years, one thing had remained constant. Lucifer always had a chair adjacent to her desk. He didn't want his own desk, mind you, because that might suggest a willingness to do paperwork. But he absolutely insisted upon having his own chair.

"Well, that wasn't exactly what I was going to say, but sure, we can do that," Chloe agreed, watching him intently. Something had been bothering Lucifer all day. So far, he'd resisted her efforts to draw him out, though. That was unusual, even for him. "Is something wrong, Lucifer?"

"No, nothing's wrong."

"Do you remember that you promised never to lie to me?"

"Yes, of course, I remember that," he said.

As she tidied up her mostly-empty desk, he stared at her. To fill the silence, she said, "I miss the old days before everything was paperless."

"Fine, Detective. You win. I promised never to lie to you, so here it is. Do you know what _I_ miss?" he asked, sounding perturbed. "I miss the days when you preferred flirting with _me_ above some greasy, balding patron in a bar."

"Lucifer, he was a perp. We were working a case. You know, trying to catch the bad guy. . . . And anyway, you've seen me do that before. You know it's all just an act."

"_Do I_?" he insisted.

"Okay. What's really going on? You've been acting weird since we left the restaurant last night. This is about Derek, isn't it?"

"No. It has nothing to do with him," he said, examining his fingernails.

She ignored his denial. "Lucifer, I'm not interested in Derek in a romantic way."

"I know that," he admitted with a sigh.

"Then, what's the problem? Because honestly, Derek was just some guy I dated for a while in my early twenties. In the larger picture, he's nothing more than a blip. I love _you_."

"But he's the perfect man for you," Lucifer argued. "Think of the life you might've had if you'd married him instead of me. He could have given you a normal relationship. You certainly wouldn't have been in a dead-end situation like you are now."

"Lucifer, how are we in a dead-end relationship?" she demanded, feeling herself becoming emotional.

"Because he's Silver City-bound, and I'm not. Or probably not, anyway. You could've spent an eternity with him and with me, our years together are numbered."

"Is that something you worry about?" she asked, pulling him toward her and running a hand through his hair until a lock broke free.

"Of course, it is! Don't you worry about it?"

"No," she responded, feeling a bit out of her depth. Even though she was married to a celestial being, conversations about "the other side" had never come easily for her. She was too much of a realist. "You don't know that you're not heaven-bound. And for that matter, I don't know that I _am_."

"I doubt very much that Dad's planning to throw open the gates for me when I get there. I mean, there's redemption, and then there's me. Father's always been keen on throwing a few extra hurdles across my path. But that guy Derek-"

"No more about Derek," she said abruptly.

"I'm telling you, Detective. Derek is a lock for the Silver City. The guy runs marathons for sick kids. He spends Saturday nights at the local soup kitchen. He helps elderly ladies cross the street in the rain."

"You don't know that he does that," she pointed out.

"Sure, I do! I'm telling you, he's exactly what they're looking for up there. He fits the profile perfectly. If Dad put out recruitment posters, Derek's face would be plastered all over them. Are you honestly telling me that seeing him didn't make you have second thoughts about your decision to be with me?"

"No," she laughed, hoping to diffuse some of his concern. To her, it was a no-brainer, and Lucifer was being ridiculous. Lucifer had seen more than she had, though, and he understood the celestial stuff better than she did. Naturally, he was more wary about their future than she was.

"Why not?" he asked, regarding her with obvious skepticism.

"Well, for one, he's not a dashing nightclub owner turned Parcheesi champion." She bumped her forehead against his and smiled.

"Go on," he urged her, looking somewhat mollified.

"He probably doesn't know that Cleopatra's favorite color was blue," she whispered. "I'll bet he's never even met her."

"Seems doubtful," he agreed. His facial muscles began to relax, and she thought she even detected a smile.

"And I'm pretty sure he would never get upset if a perfect stranger failed to open a door for me. He certainly wouldn't take the guy aside and force him to sit through a ten-minute lecture about how to treat a lady."

"I suppose you noticed that _Derek_ didn't even pull out his wife's chair at dinner last night."

"I did." She nodded, although she hadn't actually been paying attention.

"Oh, I forgot. There's one more thing," she informed him.

"What's that?"

"Derek doesn't get jealous and overreact when some slimy perp flirts with me." Leaning forward, she kissed him. "Do you know why?"

"I could only speculate as to the motives of a man like Derek."

"It's because he doesn't love me." She smiled. "Oh, and Lucifer, what I was going to say earlier was that we should call in sick tomorrow and spend the day in bed. _Not_ that we should go home and get some sleep."

For the moment, that was the end of it, and Chloe was relieved. Unfortunately, it wasn't the last time they talked about their future. She knew it still weighed heavily upon him, and every so often, they'd have the discussion again. Each time, she'd persuade him to see it her way, and each time he'd allow himself to be convinced. Then, time would pass and the doubts would surface again. And because he worried about it, she did, too.

* * *

_ **The New Assignment at Thirty Years  
** _

"Well, this is it," the Detective announced as they walked into the crime scene. The downtown loft was teeming with the usual mix of uniformed cops and medics. "It's officially our last case."

"Finally," Lucifer said. "It's time to move on to bigger and better things."

"I hope you're not suggesting that you're ready to head off to the Silver City," she whispered.

"Absolutely not," he insisted. "I meant Bora Bora . . . some lovely tiki hut on the beach in Maui . . . perhaps even the Amalfi Coast . . . . Now that you're finally letting us retire, the world is our oyster, Detective. It's time to enjoy the finer things in life."

"So is that where we're going first?" she asked. "Bora Bora?"

"I've already told you. It's a surprise."

"Lucifer, surprises are overrated. How do I know if I packed everything I'm going to need?"

"Did you bring a toothbrush?"

"Of course."

"Then, you'll be fine."

"I can't exactly wear a toothbrush, can I? I mean, obviously I'm questioning whether I packed the right clothes."

"As always, Detective, clothing is optional. In fact, I prefer you without it."

"In that case, I hope we're going someplace warm," she observed.

"Naturally," he said. "I don't mind telling you that much. And at any rate, you probably noticed that I wore a floral pocket square for the occasion. So now you know, it's definitely some place tropical."

Ella glanced up at them as they joined her over the dead body. "So, how does it feel to be wrapping it all up?" she asked.

"Fantastic," Lucifer informed her. "Let's put a bow on this one as soon as possible, Miss Lopez. The Detective and I have places to be. I, for one, can hardly wait for her to file that final report so we can be on our way."

"I'm going to miss you guys _so _much," Ella said, contorting her lips into an exaggerated frown. "It's hard to believe that when we get the call for the next murder, you two won't be showing up on scene."

"Yes, yes. We all agree that it's sad," he concurred. "What can you tell us about the victim?" As much as Lucifer enjoyed working with Miss Lopez, brevity wasn't her forte, and with a private plane on standby, brevity was exactly what was required.

"Well, let's see," she said, examining her notes. "COD is blunt force trauma to the side of the head. Aw, you guys . . . this is the last time I'm ever going to brief you on cause of death. How sad is that?"

"Miss Lopez," he sought to remind her, "you should know that any attempts to wax nostalgic will likely fall on deaf ears. The Detective and I have one foot out the door already."

Beside him, the Detective cleared her throat. "Um, I wouldn't say that, exactly."

"I would," he told her.

"I mean, with Dan retiring last year and now you guys leaving," Ella continued, "it really is the end of an era. Doesn't it bum you out?"

"Not at all," Lucifer insisted, but that was no longer the entire truth. With Miss Lopez going on about their departure, he was starting to experience a few, unfortunate pangs of sentimentality. Waving her along, he asked, "What else can you tell us?"

Ella sighed. "Well, let's see . . . time of death was around 10 a.m. Can you believe this is the last-"

"Yes, we know," he groaned. "It's the last time you'll be announcing time of death to us."

"_Yeah._ See, you're starting to feel it, too, aren't you, Buddy?"

"Definitely not," he told her, but unfortunately, he was.

"So what was the weapon?" the Detective interjected.

"Hourglass," Ella informed her. "Which means that for this lady . . . _time's up_. You know, because—"

"Yes, yes, Miss Lopez. We get it," he said, begrudgingly acknowledging that he was going to miss her corny on-scene commentary. "Time's up because the weapon was an hour glass."

"How do we know it was the hour glass?" the Detective asked.

"Because her husband said so," Ella supplied. "He's the one who did it. It's the guy standing across the room in hand cuffs. He says they had an argument. He lost his temper, grabbed the hour glass off of the mantel and popped her in the side of the head with it. He gave us a full confession."

"Huh," the Detective noted. "Seems pretty cut and dried. I guess there isn't much to investigate with this one. Looks like we'll be on that plane in a matter of hours," she said, smiling at Lucifer.

"Yeah," Ella agreed. "As soon as you file the report, you guys can be on your way."

"So fast?" Lucifer wondered aloud. The finish line was in sight now and suddenly, he felt desperate to pump the brakes. "Let's not be too hasty. Are we sure the husband did it?"

Ella moved around the body, raising her camera periodically to take pictures of the victim. "We're still pulling prints off of the murder weapon, but we already know what we'll find. I mean, hello, we have a _confession. _Plus, we've got the wife's hair and skin fragments on the hour glass. So, yeah, we're sure. This here is what you call an 'open and shut case.' Game, set, match," she concluded, swinging an imaginary tennis racket through the air. "And I know how eager you two are to be on your way, so—"

"Not so fast, Miss Lopez," Lucifer cut her off. "I'm sure the Detective and I could stand to hear the facts one more time. You know, so that we can really experience the _essence_ of the case."

"That's okay," Chloe piped up. "I think I've got it. Like you said, Ella. It's an open and shut case. Easy peasy. We're good."

"Well, you may be," he declared loudly. "But _I'm _certainly not. This case has far too many holes for me to feel comfortable about closing it."

The Detective sidled over to him and muttered, "Lucifer, what's going on with you? I thought you had one foot out the door."

"I did," he said. "I mean, I do. But I simply cannot sit idly by and watch as a horrible miscarriage of justice unfolds. Now, let's hear it all from the beginning, Miss Lopez. Once more time, please."

* * *

_ **The New Assignment at a Half Century (Give or Take a Few Years)** _

When the end came, it happened fast. Lucifer hired a small, discreet team of nurses to give the Detective round-the-clock care at home. It's what they'd discussed. She'd insisted that she didn't want her dying breath to take place in a hospital, and as always, he'd been resolute in his desire to accommodate her wishes.

The afternoon was soggy and dismal, with raindrops spilling down the bedroom windows at sporadic intervals. Maudlin and melancholy seemed to be warring with each other as to which one was going to carry the day, and Lucifer was finding himself far more affected by the Detective's failing health than he'd anticipated. As the rain continued to fall and his mind proffered the outlandish suggestion that perhaps the world was crying over the impending loss of one of its most worthy inhabitants, Lucifer reprimanded himself for the unexpected burst of sentimentality. He was appalled by the "Sylvia Plath" of it all. Humans grieved the loss of their loved ones because they had no way of knowing what lay ahead. But he was an angel and the son of God. He knew _exactly_ where the Detective was going, and there was no cause for concern on that account. She had a promising future ahead, and even if he still wasn't sure he'd be able to follow her, there was a near-certainty that she would be moving on to something brighter and better.

As the Detective's breathing became more labored, the nurse assured him that she wasn't in pain. Still, Lucifer wondered how that could possibly be true. He'd seen the scans. He knew what was going on inside of her body. There was a serenity about her countenance, though, and she seemed like she was at peace. So he chose to believe the nurse for lack of any evidence to the contrary. The Detective certainly wasn't complaining, but that proved nothing. If she were in pain, she would never disclose it to him for fear that he would worry about her.

When the nurse left the room to give them some privacy, the Detective opened her eyes and looked up at him with that same open and honest gaze that hadn't changed once during all the years he'd known her. Her eyes had always communicated warmth and love for him in a way that no one else ever had. Even when his actions were questionable, which was much of the time, her regard never seemed to waiver.

"Are you sad?" she asked. Her voice was hoarse from disuse, and it surprised him that she was still able to speak.

"I believe I am," he admitted. "Even though I can't exactly see the logic in it."

"You're not worried, are you?"

"No, Detective." It was the first time he'd ever lied to her.

If she realized it, at least she had the courtesy not to call him on it. "Maybe you're just feeling nostalgic," she offered instead.

"Maybe," he agreed.

"I'll see you soon," she whispered as her voice grew weaker. And yet she remained alert and focused on him. He knew that she was still trying to assure him that everything would be all right.

"Right. In the Silver City," he told her, nodding his head and gripping both of her hands in his.

"This isn't goodbye," she said. "You know that, right?"

"I do." He wanted to mean it, and so he decided that it didn't count as a complete lie. He'd spent decades allowing her to convince him, but he still had doubts about whether he'd be able to follow her. It wouldn't do any good to let her know that, though. She didn't need to carry that burden with her. She wouldn't leave him if she thought he was unsure about any of it, and she had to go first. "I'll be right behind you, Detective," he assured her.

"That's what partners do," she reminded him. "They have each other's backs."

If he couldn't follow her, he didn't care where he went. Some other dimension, perhaps. At that point, the locale would be inconsequential, because for the first time in a long time he'd be alone. And for the first time ever, it would destroy him.

"Just remember, Lucifer. You're a _good_ person."

"I'll remember, Detective."

She began to fade. Her eyes closed. And then she was gone. Lucifer sat at her bedside and held her hands until they cooled, feeling depleted by the experience. Only then, did he call the nurse. If she wondered why he wasn't crying, she didn't communicate that to him. He'd promised the Detective that he wouldn't. They'd discussed the plan again and again. When she was gone, he would tidy up and move on. She'd be waiting for him . . . . He would simply step away from the world and join her. It sounded easy enough. And yet, the uncertainty ahead continued to nag at him.

Lucifer walked downstairs to the living room, feeling various aches and twinges that shouldn't have been there. Angels didn't age. But somehow, he had. It was just as Amenadiel had predicted. Truly experiencing life, in all of its many facets, had taken its toll on his human form. And as much as the silver hair and flagging gait had irked Lucifer, they'd made the Detective content, so he'd tried not to whine too much about it.

As always, his piano held court at the center of the living room, and on top of it, there was a cigarette, an ash tray and a glass of Scotch. Lucifer didn't need to wonder how they'd gotten there. Someone—likely the nurse on duty—had put them there at the Detective's direction. He chuckled to himself, noting that she'd only left him one cigarette. The message was clear enough. The Detective didn't want him to linger.

Lucifer slid onto the piano bench and lit his lone cigarette. And then he played. He played until there was no more Scotch left in the glass and the cigarette had burned down to a useless nub. He placed it in the ash tray and closed the piano lid for the final time. "Very well," he said to himself. "Time to go. Moment of truth."

He could always come back to Earth again someday, but he knew that he wouldn't. As he walked out onto the balcony, he glanced up into the evening sky. The rain had finally stopped, and the stars winked at him from above. "Well played, Old Man," he said, appreciating the irony of the statement as he glanced down at his own veiny, arthritic hand. "You bested me," he continued, knowing that he would sound like a mad man to anyone who overheard him. "And I can't even say that I mind. It's certainly been a long road, and I've come along it kicking and screaming the entire way. But _you . . ._" he laughed dryly as he wagged his finger at the sky, "you did one bloody thing right, and that's what turned the tide in your favor. You made _her._ The instant the Detective and I crossed paths, you had me back on the line. And so, I willingly give up. You win."

Spreading his wings, he sighed to himself and prepared for flight. "No sense prolonging the inevitable . . . ."

ﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌ

The journey took longer than Lucifer remembered. Then again, it had been a while since he'd made the trip and he'd only gone to Earth as his father's emissary a handful of times before being exiled. Those early experiences had been too few and far between. They certainly hadn't afforded him the opportunity to memorize every small detail along the way.

When his wings disappeared, he experienced a moment of panic before quickly reminding himself that it was all a part of the process. There was nothing to get alarmed about. Wings, in their physical form, were an Earthly construct. They were merely the equivalent of a celestial passport. Lucifer chastised himself for thinking like a human. The disappearance of his wings was nothing more than a signal that he was getting close to the Silver City.

Instead of flight, Lucifer now found himself walking along a winding path pebbled with smooth, white stones. As it wove through the dense forest that clustered tightly around it, an untroubled silence imposed itself on the entire area. There were no random bird calls, and not a single leaf rustled in the distance, adding to the expectation that this was an otherworldly place. When a fine mist descended, navigation became somewhat difficult. Fortunately, there was a light up ahead to direct him. To Lucifer, it all seemed vaguely familiar. It had been millennia since he'd traveled along that particular trail, though, and it was a route he'd never thought he'd take again. As he walked, the light grew brighter, and he thought he was almost there. But then instead, he arrived at a fork in the path. This was something new . . . . Whereas the way had been relatively straightforward before, it now seemed that there was a choice to be made. Clearly, his father wanted him to know that this time, the return wouldn't be so easy for him.

"Good old Dad. Nothing's ever simple." Lucifer shook his head as he studied the options. Nothing about either route seemed to suggest itself as a more attractive option than the alternative. "Give a fellow a break," he finally muttered. "I just want to go home."

And that was it. The choice was made. The forest and path disappeared, the mist dried up and the light was no longer ahead of him. Instead, the light was everywhere, lustrous and shimmering around him like a pair of arms that were eager to welcome him home again. With a clarity that only arrives after the fact, Lucifer recognized the fork for what it had truly been. _A question_. For once, someone else had been doing the asking. His father had wanted to know what _he_ desired. Lucifer sighed. Fortunately, he'd given the right answer . . . he'd said the right thing. And he hadn't just said it. He'd meant it.

"Tricky old bastard," he grumbled, silently appreciating that the task hadn't been more difficult.

Lucifer scanned the space around him, feverishly looking for the one person he wanted to see. She was there. He could feel her presence . . . . When he finally saw her silhouette up ahead, he thought about breaking the promise he'd made to her. He thought about crying. The relief that he experienced in that moment nearly suffocated him. Then, there was the joy. It rolled over him with the force of a never-ending procession of waves crashing against the shore. If not for his desire to reach the Detective as quickly as possible, he might have buckled beneath the weight of it.

The Detective's back was turned to him, so she didn't notice his approach. She was waiting for him. He understood that much from her upturned chin and inquisitive stance. Unfortunately for her, she was looking the wrong way. She was expecting him to arrive from the same direction that she had, but in that respect, the rules that applied to them were different. She had no way of knowing that, though.

When Lucifer was close enough, he heard her quiet ramblings. "Lucifer, where are you?" she wondered softly to herself. He sensed her budding anxiety and concern, and he tried not to consider what might have happened if he hadn't been allowed to return.

His approach was stealthy and silent, and he moved with the ease and agility of one who hadn't forgotten how to manipulate time and space in the world he'd once called home. As he slowly wrapped himself around her and leaned forward, she spun in his arms and favored him with the most magnificent smile he'd ever witnessed.

"You look familiar," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead and drawing her into a tight embrace. "Have we met before?"


End file.
